


Promise of Love

by dragonQuill907



Series: Promises [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Johnlock - Freeform, Julia Holmes POV, M/M, Nightmares, Original Character POV, Sherlock Holmes POV, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-04-02 02:46:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 50,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4042801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonQuill907/pseuds/dragonQuill907
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to Promise of Home.<br/>One hundred and one days after the adoption of Julia Holmes.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shiver

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again everyone! I'll update on this fic much less regularly than before. Maybe once every week or two weeks.  
> In the meantime, you should probably read the first one, Promise of Home. This will make a lot more sense if you've already read the first in the series. The two other fics in this series are Broken Promises and Promises Made. They might become important later, so I would recommend reading them just for kicks.
> 
> The title of this chapter is "Shiver" by Coldplay.  
> Sherlock and Julia have an eventful lunch at Angelo's.

(One Hundred and One Days After the Adoption of Julia Holmes)

Sherlock surveyed their flat once more, quickly deeming it presentable yet unsuitable for a family meal. He sighed heavily and resisted the urge to throw himself onto the nearest piece of furniture. It would wrinkle his suit, and he didn’t want to change again.

Julia flew downstairs, her blue shoes slapping against the wood. She flicked her hair out of her face and smiled.

“When are they going to get here?”

“Soon, I believe. Mummy’s always early.”

“Okay. Good.” Julia scratched the back of her neck and bit her lip.

“Don’t,” Sherlock ordered. “They’ll adore you. They’re like that. Don’t be nervous.”

“You can’t tell me not to be nervous,” the girl protested. “I’m meeting them for the first time, and I don’t even know what to call them!”

“I haven’t seen them for years,” Sherlock retaliated.

“But you were dead!”

“I hadn’t seen them for years before that,” he clarified.

“You’re a terrible son,” Julia muttered.

“I am not,” Sherlock huffed. “I send them holiday cards.”

“Really?”

“Yes. It’s not as if I grew from a seed. I had to have come from somewhere,” Sherlock explained. “Of course I send them holiday cards; they’re my parents. Without them, I wouldn’t be here.”

“And I would be dead.”

“Moriarty probably wouldn’t have had a match if I was never born, so it is possible he would’ve grown bored and killed himself before your mother had had a chance to work for him.”

Julia frowned. “But then I’d still be living with her.”

“Your father would still be alive,” Sherlock reminded stiffly.

Julia shrugged. “Well, speaking of…”

“What is it?” Sherlock asked, sitting down in his chair properly.

“I was wondering what I should call you in front of your parents.”

Sherlock frowned. “What’s wrong with calling me ‘Sherlock?’”

“Nothing,” Julia said hurriedly. “I was just wondering if they would find it strange because legally, you’re my father, and I don’t call you ‘Dad’ or ‘Father.’”

“Julia, as much as I loathe repetition, I’m going to tell you what I tell you every time you ask me what you should call me.”

“No, don’t give me a _choice_ ,” Julia whined. “Tell me what to do!”

“I’m telling you to do whatever you want.”

Julia groaned.

"I doubt it needs saying, but when my parents are here, you should be on your best behavior."

"Yeah, of course," she replied.

"Good. As I said, I doubt you needed the reminder." Sherlock paused, considering. "They'll probably try to hug you."

“That’s okay.”

“All right,” Sherlock answered. “Good.”

“Anything else?”

“You may tell them whatever you wish about your life before me.”

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“I don’t see why I should. My father might ask. Mummy will probably leave it if you seem uncomfortable, but he won’t pick up on it as easily.”

“Your father isn’t observant?”

“He can be, at times.”

“Oh,” Julia chuckled. “So you’re the genius of the family. Besides Mycroft.”

“ _Mycroft_ ,” Sherlock spat.

Sherlock’s phone rang, and he sighed.

“Yes, Mummy?” he answered.

_“Sherlock, dear, we’ve made reservations at a nice little Italian place your brother suggested-”_

“Is it perhaps called Angelo’s?”

_“Oh, yes! Do you know it?”_

“Yes, Angelo is a friend of mine. He’ll probably be delighted to have us.”

_“Really? Lockie, that’s wonderful. We’ll meet you there.”_

“Yes, Mummy. We’ll see you there.”

“What’s happening?” Julia asked after he had hung up the phone.

“We’re meeting them at Angelo’s,” Sherlock replied.

“Oh, that’s good.”

“We cleaned the flat for nothing,” he complained.

“Oh, well. We’d better get going.”

“Of course,” Sherlock agreed.

Sherlock grabbed his coat and threw it on, nodding to Julia to do the same. After saying goodbye to Mrs. Hudson, they took a cab to Angelo’s. The two of them entered the restaurant and greeted Angelo amiably.

“Sherlock, Julia! This way. Your parents are already here. Lovely people!” Angelo gushed. “I can see where you get it!”

“Ah, thank you, Angelo.”

Sherlock led Julia to the table his parents had chosen. There were six chairs, and his mother sat across from his father. Next to them both were empty seats, and on the end of the table, sat Mycroft and Lestrade.

“Oh, God,” Sherlock spat. “What are _you_ doing here?”

“I like to see the both of you civil with each other,” his mother said, smirking. “Sit, Sherlock, Julia. It’s so nice to meet you, dear.” She held a delicate hand out to the girl, who shook it carefully.

“Hello,” she said timidly. She smiled when she laid eyes on Mycroft. “Hey, Mycroft. My studies are going well! Anthea is a great teacher.”

“Only the best will do,” Mycroft replied, smiling thinly.

Sherlock scowled and sat between his father and brother, his back to the wall.

“You’re quite the lovely young lady, aren’t you?” Sherlock’s father asked, smiling and straightening his bowtie.

“Um, I don’t really think so,” Julia replied.

Sherlock smirked. His mother frowned at him, nudging his foot under the table. Oh, he was supposed to do something encouraging now, wasn't he?

He cleared his throat. “Nonsense, Julia. I assume you’re reasonably attractive to boys your age.”

“Or girls.”

“Or girls,” Sherlock remedied.

“Thanks, but I still don’t think so.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Well, if I can’t convince you…”

Julia smiled.

“So,” Lestrade cut in, “Will hasn’t put his phone down for more than five seconds in the last few months.”

Sherlock hid his smile behind his glass as Julia blushed bright red.

“Who’s Will?” Sherlock’s father asked.

“Is he your boyfriend?” questioned Sherlock’s mother.

Sherlock’s smile faded away.

“He is _not_ Julia’s boyfriend,” he stated, narrowing his eyes at her.

“Sorry about the texting,” she mumbled. “He’s just my friend. We’re just friends.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Lestrade replied. “He’s made worse decisions.”

“Haven’t we all?” Sherlock muttered.

“Behave yourself,” Julia chided.

Sherlock dropped his mouth open in exaggerated horror. “How dare you talk to me that way?”

The girl just smiled and rolled her eyes.

“Lockie, you two are so cute.”

“Mummy,” Sherlock whined.

“Lockie?” Lestrade asked, eyeing Sherlock.

“Shut up.”

Lestrade held his hands up in surrender. “All right, all right.”

Angelo came to take their orders, and they all fell into their separate conversations. Lestrade kept Mycroft from pestering Sherlock, which meant his mother was free to interrogate him. His father asked Julia a few odd questions, but mostly listened to his mother talk. Julia seemed to be content just listening in as well, so Sherlock tried not to deflect any of the questions onto her.

They had just received their food when Sherlock noticed a familiar blond head pass by their table. He froze, his glass halfway to his lips.

Sherlock had known John was dating, now that Mary was out of the picture. Of course he’d known. After Mary’s death, he’d made a point of staying away from John’s dates. It wouldn’t do to leave Julia alone just so he could ruin John’s night. John hadn’t brought a woman to Baker Street, he hadn’t introduced a woman to Sherlock _or_ Julia, and he hadn’t even talked about a woman at all.

It hadn’t been a problem.

Well, there was the slight issue of his feelings for the doctor, but Sherlock had made it a habit of repressing those. It would only end badly for the two of them, he reasoned. John would find someone better, probably a woman, and Sherlock would be left to compete against an unbeatable opponent.

John was straight, as he’d said on many occasions. Given the choice, he would always choose loving a woman over loving Sherlock. The detective had come to terms with this during his time away, but he couldn’t help but sometimes fantasize of a universe where John was his.

Alas, John was not his, and John was not interested in men, much less Sherlock. Sherlock would respect that as long as he could remain John’s friend, because having part of John was better than having none of him.

What hurt Sherlock the most - and it almost pained him to admit it - was that John had chosen to bring his date to Angelo’s. They’d shared their first meal there; granted, it was all for a case, but it had been a meal nonetheless. Sherlock liked to think they had become friends at the table by the window.

Angelo’s had been _theirs_.

Sherlock wondered how many other women John had brought to the restaurant while he was away. He wondered if Mary had been one of them.

“Sherlock?” Julia asked, her voice cutting through his thoughts like a knife through butter.

He blinked. “Did I do it again?”

“Just for a few seconds,” the girl replied. “Are you all right? Is something wrong?”

Sherlock watched John play with the candle on his table.

“No, everything is fine. Eat.”

Julia didn’t listen - not that Sherlock expected her to - but instead followed his gaze to John’s table. She whipped her head back around and immediately tucked into her meal.

“If I have to eat, you have to eat too,” she ordered, kicking Sherlock under the table.

Mycroft looked between the two of them, obviously trying to decode what was going on. Sherlock felt a bolt of satisfaction on having gotten one over on his older brother, but Mycroft’s eyes quickly found the blond army doctor and his date. The only signs of his git brother’s realization were a few surprised blinks and a pitying glance.

Sherlock hated it.

“Honestly, little brother, I’d have thought you two would be together by now,” Mycroft muttered under the din of the others’ conversations.

“Obviously, that is not the case, Mycroft.”

“ _Obviously_ , you two are both too moronic to figure it out yourselves,” Julia interjected, whispering. “For such a genius, you can be so stupid.”

Mycroft chuckled. “I’ve always been the smart one.”

“You had me thinking I was an idiot,” Sherlock complained, thinking back to his younger years in the Holmes household.

“You were an idiot,” Mycroft protested.

“Myc, don’t be rude to your brother,” scolded their mother.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows at his older brother and smirked.

“Lockie, stop making faces.”

Sherlock sighed heavily and picked at his food.

“Sherlock,” Mycroft whispered, “it seems you’ve been discovered.”

The detective looked up only to have his eyes lock onto John’s, who was staring at him over the shoulder of his date. Sherlock looked away quickly, keeping his eyes on his plate.

“I have to go,” he announced. “Julia, I’m sure Mycroft can give you a lift home.”

“Sherlock?” the girl questioned.

“Lockie,” his mother complained, “sit back down. Where are you going?”

Sherlock ignored them both and walked out the door.

~*~

Julia brushed her hair, humming to herself. She pulled it back, gazing in the mirror. Her face was still too thin, and her features too sharp. She sighed and let her hair fall onto her shoulders. Quickly checking the time, she bent to tie her shoes.

Julia glanced in the mirror again, considering her small makeup bag. All she had in it was an eyeliner pencil, mascara, and a few tubes of lip gloss from Mrs. Hudson. She gingerly picked out the tube of brown mascara and applied it carefully. She smiled at herself after it was done, and she rushed downstairs, hoping anxiously that Sherlock would leave the matter alone.

When she got to the sitting room, Sherlock was standing in the middle, frowning.

“We cleaned the flat for nothing.”

Julia just shook her head, smiling, and grabbed her coat along with Sherlock. She said nothing as they rode in the cab, both her and Sherlock staring out their respective windows. The cab stopped outside Angelo’s, and Sherlock hastily paid the cabbie.

Angelo greeted them warmly when they walked inside, and he led them to a table near the back of the restaurant. Mycroft and Lestrade sat across from each other on one end, and Sherlock’s parents sat on the other.

Mr. and Mrs. Holmes were not what Julia had expected. She’d been anticipating crisp suit jackets and perhaps a pencil skirt, fancy shoes and expensive jewelry. Sherlock’s mother, however, wore a simple black blouse with a navy blue cardigan. Her graying hair was pulled back into a loose bun, and in her ears were diamond studs. Sherlock’s father was dressed similarly, garbed in a light blue jumper and navy bowtie.

Julia smiled at them and introduced herself shyly.

"Hello." She saw Mycroft and relaxed marginally. “Hey, Mycroft. My studies are going well. Anthea’s a great teacher.”

Mycroft smiled. “Only the best will do.”

Sherlock’s father complimented her appearance, and she felt her face heat up. Sherlock obviously found it amusing, but his mother frowned at him. He spat out the same reassurance he had those months ago outside Scotland Yard.

“I assume you’re reasonably attractive to boys your age.”

Julia tilted her head. “Or girls.”

Mr. and Mrs. Holmes didn’t even react, but commented on the air of the restaurant, sipping their drinks with ease. She could feel Lestrade and Mycroft staring at her, and she had to bite her cheek to keep from laughing. No doubt Mycroft was trying to figure out what he’d missed. Julia knew he hadn’t missed anything, as she didn’t even know what she was yet. Lestrade was simply bewildered.

“Or girls,” Sherlock replied, smirking. Julia thought she was going to choke on her laughter.

“Thanks,” Julia managed, “but I still don’t think so.”

“Well, if _I_ can’t convince you…”

Julia let herself smile.

Lestrade and Mycroft started their own conversation, leaving Julia to talk to Sherlock and Sherlock’s parents.

“Anthea’s tutoring you, then?” Sherlock’s father asked.

“Yes,” she answered, nodding, “and Sherlock is teaching me French, too.”

“Is he really?”

“Yeah. I don’t think I’ll ever be as good as him, though.”

“I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it eventually,” Sherlock’s father replied. "And how are your other studies?"

"I'm good at science and English. Literature, too. I don’t like history, but I suppose it's tolerable. Maths is difficult."

"Your grandmother was a mathematician. Perhaps, if you are struggling, she could be of some help."

Ah, so that solved the name problem.

“Really?” Julia asked, raising her eyebrows. “Why?”

“I like numbers.” Grandmother shrugged. “I stopped working when the boys came along. And don’t call me ‘Grandmother;’ it makes me sound old.”

“Darling…”

“Call me Nana. I think that would suffice.”

Sherlock’s father rolled his eyes. “Call me whatever you like, sweetheart. It makes no difference to me.”

Julia nodded. “All right.”

Nana smiled and turned to Sherlock. “And how are you, Lockie?”

“I’m fine, Mummy.”

“Have you got any cases on? The last post on John’s blog was weeks ago. _A Dutch Braid_.”

“Oh, the one with the triplets?” Julia asked, perking up.

She loved talking about Sherlock’s cases. Since she barely ever left the flat, Sherlock never got a chance to deduce the people around her. She hadn’t seen him on any cases, but she listened raptly to everything he or John would tell her later. Nothing would interest her more than to hear about the case from Sherlock’s perspective again, or perhaps even accompany him someday, when she was older and death didn’t affect her so much.

“How do you know that?” Sherlock asked sharply.

“I read about it on the blog,” answered Julia. “You never told me not to.”

“I _said_ I wasn’t going to tell you about the case. There was a _reason_ for that.”

“Why not?” Julia replied. “There wasn’t anything bad in it. Besides the murder, that is.”

“I told you that you were not to ask me or John about that one case.”

“I didn’t ask you, though,” Julia protested weakly. “Sorry. I’ll stop reading his blog if you want me to.”

Sherlock sighed and rubbed his face. “No, just… Just don’t read the ones I tell you not to read. I doubt John was expecting an adolescent audience when he posted that.”

“You tell me the good ones anyway.”

“Those are the most fun,” he answered. Sherlock smirked and turned to his mother. “No, Mummy, I haven’t got a case right now. If only someone would _get me one_.” He glared pointedly at Lestrade.

“What do you want me to say, Sherlock?” he questioned, shrugging. “Do you want me to murder someone so you can solve it?”

“Well, you’ve already told him who’s done it,” Julia interjected. “It’ll be boring, now.”

“She’s right,” Sherlock agreed.

Julia smiled.

“Oh, darling,” Nana said, “just be careful, all right?”

Sherlock’s father nodded along with his wife. “We wouldn’t want you getting hurt.”

“Of course. I’m always careful.”

Mycroft coughed into his napkin, Lestrade scoffed, and Mr. and Mrs. Holmes raised their eyebrows. Julia and Sherlock shared a sly grin over the table.

Angelo eventually came to the table with their food, and they all started eating immediately. Stuffing a forkful of spaghetti in her mouth, she noticed Sherlock tense across from her. She looked up at him, questioning.

"Sherlock?"

He blinked. “Did I do it again?”

“Just for a few seconds,” she said, concern forcing its way into her voice. “Are you all right? Is something wrong?”

The detective stared at something over Julia's shoulder. She chewed her lips and forced the food in her mouth down her throat.

“No, everything is fine. Eat.”

Julia frowned and followed Sherlock's gaze. John Watson sat at a table and smiled at the woman across from him, fiddling with the candle there. He was laughing, touching the woman's hand, and blatantly flirting. It made Julia sick, and she suddenly thought of her mother. Had John looked at _her_ like that? She didn't want to picture it, and silently thanked whatever deity was out there that the woman was a curly-haired brunette.

Julia started as she realized what Sherlock must have been seeing - the man he loved trying to make it work with yet another woman. A sharp jolt of sympathy shot through her. She bit her lip to keep it from showing, knowing instantly that Sherlock would hate to be pitied by anyone, much less the girl he provided for.

If she was completely honest with herself, Julia still wasn't exactly sure why Sherlock kept her around. It would've been easy to have Mycroft arrange a home for her. Even if he’d changed his mind about taking her in after she’d been living with him for a time, Sherlock could’ve gotten rid of her easily. But he hadn’t changed his mind, and it made Julia wonder if he held some type of sentiment for her. Of course, she knew he loved her, in a way. She knew she loved him, too. He was a better father than she could’ve hoped for. Despite his faults, Sherlock made an effort to be there for her when she needed him most.

She counted that as love.

Julia was filled with sudden anger towards John Watson and disbelief that he _still_ refused to see how much he meant to the detective across from her. She’d read John’s blog and heard it from the man himself; she knew what Angelo’s was to them. It was the first meal they’d eaten together as friends. It was the first case they’d shared. It was the first time either of them hadn’t felt utterly alone.

Feeling her anger subside, Julia turned to continue her conversation with her grandfather when she heard Mycroft (was she supposed to call him Uncle Mycroft now?) whisper something to Sherlock.

“Honestly, little brother, I’d have thought you two would be together by now.”

“Obviously, that is not the case, Mycroft,” Sherlock retorted.

“ _Obviously_ , you two are both too moronic to figure it out yourselves,” interrupted Julia, careful to keep her voice down. “For such a genius, you can be so stupid.”

Sherlock and Mycroft started arguing about their intelligence, and Julia couldn’t help but smile at their childish jabs at the other.

“Lockie, stop making faces,” Nana scolded.

The man sighed but listened to his mother, picking up his fork and pushing his food around his plate. Mycroft turned to him and whispered something again, looking over Julia’s shoulder. She kept her head turned away as Sherlock followed his brother’s gaze. The girl looked up when he froze.

“I have to go. Julia, I’m sure Mycroft can give you a lift home.”

“Sherlock?” she asked.

“Lockie, sit back down. Where are you going?”

Julia wasn’t surprised when Sherlock stalked away from the table and out of the restaurant. She was surprised, however, when she heard John excuse himself from his date. Turning in her chair, she caught his sleeve as he rushed past.

He looked down at her impatiently, waiting for her to speak.

“ _Fix it_ this time.”

The door slammed shut, and Julia turned back to her table, rolling her eyes.

“So, what do you do, Grandfather?”


	2. Yours Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock goes home, and Julia visits a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is "Yours Again" by Red.
> 
> Thank you guys for being so patient with me as I write this. I'm a little behind schedule, but now that I'm on summer vacation, I'm catching up! This'll be the last fic in the series. I hope you guys enjoy.
> 
> Also, I'd love some opinions on this chapter because some of it is pretty new for me. Thanks a bunch for reading!

Sherlock walked all the way back to the flat. He was fuming, anger and hurt threatening to overwhelm him. He could feel the dam cracking. Emotions, the tedious things, beat themselves against the wall, weakening it with every hit.

He slammed the front door, not caring if Mrs. Hudson heard or didn't hear or if she was even home. Sherlock stalked up the stairs. The door shut with a bang, and he leaned his forehead against it, breathing out slowly.

"Sherlock-"

The detective spun around. There, in the middle of the sitting room, stood none other than the doctor responsible for Sherlock’s distress.

“For God’s sake!” Sherlock exclaimed. “You took a cab, didn’t you?”

“Yes. Sherlock, why did you-”

“Why did I what?”

“Why did you _leave_?”

“Why did I have to stay?” Sherlock asked flatly. “Julia’s in good hands. She has three adults I trust and one I tolerate to look after her. She’ll be fine.”

“You can’t storm out like that just because you want to have a tantrum!”

“I can, and I did, John.

“I don’t see what the problem is.”

“Of course you don’t; someone with a brain the size of yours couldn’t possibly begin to comprehend a mind such as mine.”

“All right, are you done stroking your ego?” John asked, completely unimpressed. “I would like to know what caused you such… agitation.”

“ _I_ would like to know why you’re here, in _my_ flat.”

“ _Your_ flat?”

“Yes, John, my flat. What are you doing here, in _my_ flat, while you are _obviously_ supposed to be somewhere else?”

“Don’t play dumb!” John exclaimed. “You know full well why I’m here. In _your_ bloody flat.”

“Presumably to scold me for walking out on my lunch date with my parents, although I fail to see how that _wouldn’t_ be laughably hypocritical, considering you abandoned your date there as well.”

“Why are you even upset?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Because my tiny mind can’t possibly comprehend your reasoning?”

“Precisely, John. Now, did you take _Mary_ to Angelo’s too?” he questioned. “Or have you forgotten about her already?”

“Don’t bring her into this.”

“Why not?” Sherlock pushed. “She was only your wife.”

“Do you want to know what I think?”

Sherlock pretended to consider his response. “Not particularly, no.”

“I think-”

“Oh, God,” the detective interjected.

“You see, what I think is this: I think you’re _jealous_ -”

The dam broke, and Sherlock’s mind was numb as every emotion he’d felt for John came pouring out of him.

“Of course I’m bloody jealous, John! I can’t _take_ this anymore; I can’t take _you_!” he yelled, fury curling around his stomach and squeezing, constricting, cutting off all common sense. “Every day for two years - _two years, John_ \- I waited to come back. I waited to come back to London, to come back to _you_ , and _you weren’t there_!”

John sighed wearily. “I was married, Sherlock-”

“I know you were married, John. I’ve always known you were going to get married, and I’ve always known you were going to leave me eventually. I just thought I’d have some time to _adjust_ instead of being thrown in the middle of your sickening. Domestic. _Bliss_!” he roared. “Do you have any idea how that feels? To suddenly amount to _nothing_?”

John’s eyes were wide, and he was staring at Sherlock’s chest. The detective scoffed and stepped towards the middle of the room, towards the man standing dumbly there.

“Oh. Oh, I see. I’m expressing _emotion_. So unlike the sociopath, isn’t it? It’s supposed to be unfeeling. It’s supposed to be a _machine_ ,” Sherlock snarled. “Am I making you uncomfortable? How absolutely _novel_! Aren’t you always telling me I ought to be more human, John?”

The other man swallowed thickly, but did not move his eyes from the detective’s coat.

“Look at me, John,” Sherlock ordered. “Look at what you’ve done to me. Am I human enough for you now? Are you happy _now? Look_ at what you’ve done to me!”

“Sherlock, I’m s-”

“You’re sorry? You’re _sorry_?” the detective spat, looming over the blond. “You’ve ruined me, John. Everything I’ve worked to suppress, to keep locked away, you’ve broken it out. _Look at me_ ; consumed by something as tedious as _love_ for someone like you.”

"Love?"

"That's hardly the point, John!"

“That’s not the point?” John questioned. “How is the word ‘love’ _not_ the point of that entire speech?”

Sherlock ran his hands through his hair. “I can’t get anywhere with you, can I?”

“Wait. Someone like me?” John demanded, obviously still hung up on Sherlock’s earlier statement. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It amazes me how utterly incompetent you are at times, John,” Sherlock complained. “There _isn’t_ anyone like you!”

“So you love… me.”

Sherlock winced. “Disgusting, isn’t it?”

“Sherlock-”

"What?" the detective growled. "What could it possibly be now?"

"You love me."

"Are you hard of hearing, John?"

The doctor swallowed and clenched his fists. He nodded once, seemingly to himself, and licked his lips.

"Right. Okay."

He stepped forward, grabbed Sherlock, and kissed him soundly on the lips.

Kissing John Watson was a beautiful thing. He held Sherlock’s biceps, pulling them close to each other as their lips slid together. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John’s waist, relishing their proximity. The blond must have taken this as encouragement, because he ran his hands over Sherlock’s arms and around his neck, his fingers sinking into dark curls. Sherlock gasped, and John’s tongue slipped into his mouth before he could gather enough sense to close it.

Timidly, Sherlock stroked John’s tongue with his own. The feeling was electric, sparking through every cell in Sherlock’s body. He nearly groaned at the sensation and started exploring John’s mouth boldly, causing the other man to moan and kiss Sherlock harder. The detective was sure his lips were going to bruise. He whimpered and grasped onto the back of John’s shirt, clinging on desperately, as if he would fall over the edge of oblivion if he dared let go.

John’s fingers ran through Sherlock’s hair, the fingernails catching on a few strands. One of the doctor’s hands slid to cup Sherlock’s jaw, opening his mouth even wider. Sherlock whined into John's mouth, and the other man groaned unabashedly.

“ _God_ , Sherlock.”

And that’s when the detective realized it.

Kissing John Watson was a beautiful, wonderful, amazing, _terrible_ thing. John wasn’t gay; he didn’t even like men. John didn’t know what he was doing. This was merely lust that had been accumulating over the very short course of his date with that woman at Angelo’s. This was not a desire for _Sherlock_. This was the desire for anyone.

Sherlock felt as if he were going to be sick. He pushed John away, both of them breathing raggedly. They stood, looking at each other wordlessly. Sherlock’s knees started to wobble, and he leaned against the wall to support himself.

“Sherlock, I-”

“Don’t, John. I-I never meant for that to happen.”

John’s face fell. “No. Don’t say that.”

“It’s fine, John,” replied Sherlock. “We’ll just… we’ll forget about this, all of it. Everything will go back to how it was.”

“I don’t want that.”

“I know; I’m sorry. Forgive me, please.” Sherlock couldn’t meet the doctor’s eyes. “I… lost _control_ of myself,” he spat. “It won’t happen again.”

“Sherlock, you great bloody idiot, would you shut up and listen to me?”

The detective froze. Oh, God, there it was. John was about to cut him off. He wouldn’t ever want to see Sherlock again; he’d ruined everything again, as always. Sherlock hung his head in shame.

Suddenly, there was a hand on his chin, tilting his head up so he was forced to look straight into John’s ocean blue eyes. There was something in them, a certain warmth that Sherlock often found reflected in his own heart, where John currently resided. Sherlock gasped and looked away, but John held his jaw firmly in place. There was definitely warmth in John’s eyes, along with ever-present concern, affection, and amazement of either Sherlock’s brilliance or Sherlock’s ignorance.

“John-” he whispered.

“Shh.”

Sherlock closed his mouth. Not two minutes ago, he couldn’t meet John’s gaze; now, he found it impossible to tear himself away.

“Sherlock,” John whispered. Sherlock felt John’s breath on his skin and suppressed a shiver. “You don’t know how long I’ve been in love with you.”

“John?”

“I thought it was obvious, my God. I’ve loved you since that day at the pool. God, Sherlock, I thought we were going to die, and I realized it. That we’d wasted so much time, that it was too late for me to say anything.”

The dark-haired man shook his head. "No, it doesn't make sense. You would've- John, why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't know," John replied. "I didn't know. I thought you would be... offended."

" _Offended_? John, that's ridiculous."

He shrugged. "You're the one who told me you were married to your work. I didn't think you would take it well. I should've- Christ, Sherlock, if I'd known, I would've said-"

"John, I never thought... I mean, I hoped, but when I came back..."

"When you came back, I was so- so _angry_. After you left, I couldn't think about anything but you, so I stayed away. I didn't- I didn't trust myself."

Sherlock closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against John's.

"I can't tell you what you mean to me, Sherlock. I was so bloody stupid. I love you. More than you can imagine."

"And I, you. Quite hopelessly, if I might add."

John laughed, and Sherlock felt his heart drift into his throat.

"Sherlock, if we do this... I need to know this isn't just a one-off. You won't change your mind tomorrow. You won't cut me off."

"John Watson," said Sherlock, "never leave me again."

"Never," agreed John, bumping his nose gently against Sherlock's. The detective sighed contentedly. "Sherlock, I want you to know I won't... push you into anything you don't want."

"I want everything," laughed Sherlock softly. "Everything you're willing to give me."

"Sherlock-"

"Everything, John. I trust you."

John brought his lips to Sherlock’s gently. This kiss was nothing like their first. Where the first had been grasping-taking-needing, this was slow, caring. It wasn’t demanding, but promising. They promised wordlessly that they were each other’s; that they loved each other and would continue to love without fail; that Sherlock was no longer Sherlock, and John was no longer John, but they were a team, a pair, Sherlock-and-John.

The detective’s eyelids fluttered as the other man trailed close-mouthed kisses along his jaw and down his neck. John nipped the pulse in Sherlock’s throat, and he ran his tongue over it lightly, soothing the bite. He kept one hand in Sherlock’s hair, combing it through calloused fingers. The other kneaded Sherlock’s hip carelessly.

“John,” Sherlock gasped breathlessly, throwing his head back and exposing more of this throat to John’s mouth. “John, _please_.”

“Please what?” John prodded, running his nose along Sherlock’s jaw. He shivered. “Tell me what you want, Sherlock.” His lips moved teasingly behind the detective’s ear.

“ _Oh_ ,” Sherlock sighed, tracing patterns on the doctor’s good shoulder. “ _John_.”

John paused his administrations, much to Sherlock’s dismay. His deep blue eyes stared into Sherlock’s, questioning. “Oh, you mean-”

“Yes. Yes, please.”

“Sherlock…”

“I trust you, John. Please, I- I need you.”

John laughed softly. "What about your daughter?"

"Oh, I can take care of that," Sherlock replied, pulling out his phone.

~*~

_(2:13pm) Everything is fine. You probably don’t want to come home for a few hours. At least. - SH_

Julia frowned, looking down at her phone.

“What is it, dear?” Nana asked.

“I think they’ve worked it out, but Sherlock said I shouldn’t- oh. Oh, my God.” Julia felt her face heat up as she looked at the faces around her. “They’re- they’re, uh, busy. At the moment. Probably for the next few hours.”

"What?" Lestrade muttered. "It's not even half past two."

"It was bound to happen eventually, Gregory," Mycroft replied. "I'm surprised it took them this long."

"You, surprised?" Lestrade questioned, smirking.

"They should've gotten together after the serial suicide case," Mycroft answered. "If not then, after the pool incident. It baffles me that two people can be so attentive to each other yet be completely oblivious to their feelings."

"That's what I said!" Julia agreed. "I mean, it's like everyone could see it but them."

"Precisely," Mycroft said.

"John is a good man, isn't he?" Nana asked, furrowing her eyebrows.

"Yes, Mummy. I talked to him before they moved in together."

"I know, dear, but I just don't want him to hurt our Lockie."

"He won't, Mummy. I'll make sure of it."

"I've never seen a man more love-struck," Lestrade added. "He just didn't seem to realize it."

Julia frowned. "He knew," she said. "He just didn't know how to tell him."

"I would be intimidated too," Lestrade agreed.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

"Well, imagine telling a Holmes you're in love with them."

The other man smirked, but his eyes softened just enough for Julia to catch it.

"John won't do anything Sherlock doesn’t want," said Julia confidently. "He doesn't want to mess it up."

"He'll be fine, darling," Grandfather assured. "We are all Holmeses here. And Gregory, of course. We can handle Sherlock if something goes wrong."

"If John cocks it up, I'll kick his arse," Lestrade added. "No need to worry, Mrs. Holmes."

"Thank you, Gregory. You are aware you can call me Mum, yes?"

"Of course, Mrs- uh, Mum."

Nana smiled sweetly and took a sip of her tea.

"Um. I might need to stay with someone," Julia interjected. "Until they're... done."

“That’s not a problem,” Lestrade replied easily. "I've got to pick up Will from football practice. He and Grace are staying with me this weekend. You can tag along, if you'd like."

“That would be lovely. Thanks, Lestrade.”

Julia tried her hardest not to think about any of the goings-on at 221B Baker Street, London for the next forty-five minutes. She drank her lemonade, she ate her pasta, and she talked to her grandparents about schoolwork. Mycroft asked her once or twice about her sketchbook, and Julia blushed heavily before explaining to Lestrade that yes, she could draw fairly well, thank you. Nana insisted on seeing this sketchbook as soon as possible, and Julia found herself agreeing to a lunch date next week. She figured Sherlock wouldn’t have any plans - or that the plans he did have involved staying behind closed doors. Hopefully.

When Angelo came to collect their plates, he waved off their attempts to pay him. Lestrade left more than enough money for his meal on the table and Mycroft slipped a few bills into Angelo’s pocket when he wasn’t paying attention. Julia smiled until she realized that Sherlock was supposed to pay for her. She almost laughed when she realized that Sherlock probably hadn’t been planning to pay in the first place.

Her grandparents hugged her tightly before getting into a cab. As it pulled away from the curb, a sleek black car took its place.

“Goodbye, dear,” Mycroft said, using the pet name easily. He stepped closer to Lestrade and placed a small kiss on his cheek.

The other man smiled and replied, “I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t overwork yourself.”

Julia looked away, not sure if she was supposed to be listening to their conversation. People in relationships were like that, weren’t they? They didn’t like when people listened to them talk to each other. Julia frowned. Actually, wouldn’t that be a bit rude? It would be, she decided, very rude to only pay attention to one person in a group of people. What if it turned out you liked someone else more than your… person? You wouldn’t know at all.

Julia tried not to listen to them, but it was rather hard when there was no one else to talk to.

“I never do.”

“You always do. Get some rest, Myc.”

“Whatever you say, dear.”

Julia glanced over long enough to witness Greg pull Mycroft into a gentle hug. She tore her gaze away and blushed as the car door slammed.

To describe sitting in the passenger seat of Lestrade’s car while listening to inane pop music as awkward would be an understatement. Both Julia and Lestrade were completely silent. She stared out the window as he drove, and neither made any indication they were about to start talking.

As they stopped at a red light, however, Lestrade turned to her.

“Does it bother you?”

“Does what bother me?”

“Mycroft and I are together. It doesn’t bother you, does it?”

“I don’t see why it matters,” Julia replied. “I mean, you were together before I came along. Plus, I’m not a very big part of your lives anyway. You two are happy. Why would it bother me?”

“Well, because we’re both, you know, men…”

“Oh. Oh! No, that’s not it at all. I’m not bothered by that! I'm just... not used to seeing people kiss," Julia explained. "My dad and Mary never... and Moran wasn't ever with anyone. I mean, there were prostitutes here and there, but it's not as if he wanted me in the room. I didn't want to be there either."

Lestrade blinked a few times, his eyebrows raised.

“Your dad and… Mary? I thought she was John’s wife.”

Julia closed her eyes and sighed. “You don’t know about that yet, do you?”

“Is this your origin story?” Lestrade paused. “Oh. Wow, I just had a flashback to my teenage comic book days.

“Yeah,” she replied, smirking. “I guess Mycroft and Sherlock never bothered to tell you. All right, then, I guess it’s up to me.”

“What, so, you’re just gonna tell me? I thought Sherlock didn’t want you to.”

“Sherlock should have told you when you introduced us,” Julia replied. “But he’s too obsessed with being mysterious. He needs to just tell people things.”

“That he is,” Lestrade laughed. “Go ahead. I won’t interrupt.”

“That’s fine. You want the short version?”

“Yeah, we’re almost there.”

“Mary was my real mother. She worked for Moriarty as an assassin. When I was ten, my dad found out about it, and she killed him,” Julia replied, much more easily than she had expected. “She had me pack my things and left me with one of Moriarty’s other assassins, Moran. He used to hurt me. That’s where the scars on my arms came from, you know. It was never Sherlock.”

“I don’t think he’d be able to hurt you,” Lestrade added.

Julia nodded. “When Moriarty died, Moran only talked about killing Sherlock Holmes. It got annoying, actually. Anyway, Sherlock eventually came and killed Moran. He took me with him because Mycroft thought I might have answers to some questions, which I didn’t. I moved in with him, and Molly helped me buy clothes.”

“You also visited me.”

“Yeah.” She swallowed and started picking at her cuticles. “Then I found out that my mother was married to John… She threatened to kill Sherlock if I told anyone she was alive. Mycroft gave Sherlock a file on her, and he realized that he hadn’t killed her yet.

“I ran off to John’s, and Mary stopped by Baker Street. John and I went back. Mary killed herself. And now John and Sherlock are probably doing things that I never want to think about. Ever.”

“That’s… I’m sorry.”

“No, Sherlock’s a great dad.”

“He is?”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Julia said. “He helps me with my nightmares.”

“Sherlock… helps you with your nightmares?” Lestrade repeated.

“He plays the violin to wake me up, and then it helps me fall back asleep. When they get really bad, he sleeps in the living room with me.”

“Wow.”

“He has them, too,” the girl said. “Sometimes it’s easier to stay awake than to fall back asleep. I draw while he reads.”

“That’s actually really sweet.”

Julia frowned. “Is it?”

“Of course it is.”

“You said we were almost there?” Julia stared out the window and played with her sleeves.

Lestrade parked the car. “We are here, actually. We’ve just got to wait until his Highness decides to show himself.”

Julia chuckled. “Does he know I’m here?”

“No. So it’ll be a nice little surprise for him.”

“Hm. Hey, Lestrade?”

“Yeah, what d’you need?”

“How long have you and Mycroft been dating? Sherlock told me that you got together after his suicide.”

“Seven months afterwards.”

“Oh, so you’ve been together for…”

“Nearly three years now.”

“Are you going to get married?”

Lestrade’s face turned bright red, and he coughed into his fist. The passenger side door opened, and Lestrade’s stuttered reply was interrupted by an inhuman shriek.

“Dear God!” Julia cried, jumping nearly out of her seat.

Will stood in the doorway, a sports bag and a pair of black cleats hanging from his shoulder. His brown hair was sweaty and plastered to his forehead. Hazel eyes widened as he took in the sight of the small blonde girl reclining in his father’s car. Dirt covered Will’s shorts, and a wild smile appeared on his face.

“Jules!”

“Billy, what the hell? You smell terrible.”

The smile didn’t even waver. “Gimme a break, Holmes. I just spent three hours chasing a ball around that field.”

“Well, that isn’t my fault, is it?”

“Come on, loverboy, get in the backseat,” Lestrade ordered. “We’ve got to get your sister.”

“I am not _loverboy_ ,” Will protested weakly, clambering into the car. “And do we really have to get her?”

“Yes, William. I would like to see your sister.”

“But she’s not going to do anything but text her friends.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“Dad, come on, I don’t want to deal with her!”

“You won’t have to. Julia can keep you company.”

“Why?” Will questioned, leaning forward into the front seat. “Can’t she just go home?”

“Way to make a girl feel special, Billy,” Julia replied.

“Oh, please, you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I can’t go home until John and Sherlock are-”

“Wait wait wait!” Will cried. “Did they finally get together?”

Julia spun around. “Yes! Thank God, too. It took them so long to figure it out.”

Will grinned. “Good. It’s about time.”

Lestrade pulled up in front of a block of apartments and parked the car. Pop music still blasted out of the speakers. Julia wanted to plug her ears, but she didn’t want to seem rude. She had suffered in silence this long, so she could definitely get through the rest of the car ride.

The back door opened, and Grace popped her head into the car.

“What are you listening to?” she asked, wrinkling her nose. “This is terrible. Change the station.”

“I thought this was what kids your age listen to.”

“Dad, this is crap music,” Will replied.

“Language.”

“Hey, Julia, why don’t you sit in back? I don’t want to sit next to him,” Grace said, nodding at her brother. “Plus, he smells.”

“So, you want _me_ to sit next to him?” complained Julia, who got out of the car anyway. She climbed into the back seat and buckled her seatbelt.

“What’s so wrong with me?”

“You smell like an animal,” Lestrade answered. “You’ve got to take a shower when we get back to the flat.”

“Yeah, okay, I get it.”

Lestrade’s flat was only a little bigger than Sherlock’s. It had two bedrooms - one of which Grace and Will shared - and two bathrooms, a sitting room, and a kitchen. Julia had to wonder if it only looked bigger because every flat surface wasn’t covered in case files or experiments.

Will disappeared into one of the bedrooms and emerged carrying a bundle of clothing. He smiled disarmingly as he waved, closing the bathroom door behind him. Grace and Julia sat on one of the couches, each paying attention to only their phones. Julia realized that she didn’t have anyone to text if Molly was at work and Sherlock and John were… busy, so she shut it off and put it in her back pocket.

“Do you like to read?”

“Hmm?” Grace looked up from her phone. “Well, sometimes. I like adventure stories.”

“Me too. Have you read _The Hobbit_?”

“No. Isn’t that the one with the movies with that really hot guy?”

“The guy who plays Bilbo?”

Grace wrinkled her nose. “No, the one with the dark hair.”

“Is he a dwarf?”

“I don’t know. He’s got a beard.”

“That’s Thorin Oakenshield. He’s the King under the Mountain.”

“Okay, yeah, Thorn sounds about right.”

“No, it’s _Thorin_. Two syllables,” Julia corrected.

“Thor _in_ is ridiculously hot.”

“Oh, really?” Julia laughed. “I agree.”

"Who wouldn't?"

"What are you two laughing about?"  questioned Will, walking into the room with a can of pop.

Julia blushed furiously.

“Eugh! Put a shirt on!” Grace shouted, covering her eyes. “It’s going to kill us. Look at that poor girl’s face!”

“Grace, shut up,” Julia hissed.

“She looks as if she might spontaneously combust!”

“Grace Lestrade, I will hurt you,” Julia threatened, looking away as Will’s face and neck turned an alarming shade of red.

“No, you won’t. Now, go put on a shirt!”

“Right, um, sorry,” Will stammered, rushing back to his room.

Ten minutes later, all three teenagers were shouting at each other over a game of Mario Kart. Julia breathed more easily with a fully-clothed Will sitting next to her. She lost almost every minigame, her mind preoccupied with the knot in her chest that had formed as soon as she laid eyes on a ruffled, half-naked William Lestrade. She wasn’t sure if she liked it, whatever it was. She decided she would have to ask her da-

_Sherlock_.

She would have to ask _Sherlock_ about it when she got home.


	3. Better Strangers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock realizes his mistake, and Julia makes one herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is "Better Strangers" by Royal Blood.  
> Not beta'd or britpicked. If you have any questions or concerns feel free to ask, especially if something seems inconsistent.

Sherlock breathed in deeply, inhaling the scent of John’s shampoo. He sighed contentedly and nuzzled his face back into his doctor’s neck, tightening his arms around his waist.

John stirred in his arms. He let out a sigh and turned to face Sherlock, smiling softly.

“Hello, love. What time is it?”

Sherlock shrugged. “I didn’t bother to check.”

“Well, that might be a good idea.”

Sherlock stayed where he was.

“Love?”

“I don’t want to move. I quite like being tangled up with you.”

John hummed in agreement. “So do I. Pity we can’t stay in bed for the rest of the day.”

“We can if we want to,” Sherlock replied, wiggling his foot between John’s. “Just you and I.”

“Right,” John laughed. “It’s not as if we have responsibilities.”

Sherlock groaned. “She’s going to know what we did.”

“Exactly? Wow. That would honestly be impressive.”

“John, this isn’t a joke. How am I going to explain that the reason she had to stay out of the flat for an extra-” Sherlock reached over John and grabbed his phone, checking the time. “-four hours was that we decided to-”

“Maybe you could put it a bit more delicately,” John interrupted. “Tell her that you just didn’t want her in the flat.”

“There’s no point to any of this,” Sherlock sighed. “She knows. She won’t be able to look at us for days.” He giggled. “God, John, what the hell is wrong with us? It’s half six and we’re in bed.”

“We’re in love,” replied John easily. “Not that that’s a problem.”  
“No, not a problem at all.”

“What is a problem is that we’ll never be alone.”

“Julia will be going off to school soon. It will only be a few weeks at most.”

John laughed. “Have you talked to her about it yet?”

Sherlock shrugged. “It’s a conversation I’ve been meaning to have.”

“We’ll add that to the list.”

“I’d better take a shower,” Sherlock sighed. “I’ve got to pick her up.”

“Do you know where she is?”

“Probably Lestrade’s or my mother’s. I’ll call her.”

Sherlock rolled out of bed and trudged to the bathroom. He took a quick, warm shower and threw on new clothes. Wandering back into the bedroom, he found John still wrapped up in blankets, one muscled calf sticking out.

“You might want to put your clothes on before we get back.”

“I know, I know.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and left John to his laziness. He took out his phone and dialed Julia’s number.

_“Hello?”_

“Hello, Julia.”

_“Sherlock? Is something wrong?”_

“No. Why would it be?”

_“I just… I thought you preferred to text?”_

“Yes, well, I’ve just called to find out where you are, exactly.”

“ _I’m at Lestrade’s flat_ ,” Julia answered.

“Good. I’ll pick you up soon.”

_“We’re eating Chinese food.”_

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “When shall I pick you up?”

_“Now is fine.”_

“Why did you mention the food, then?”

_“I thought it would be relevant information.”_

“It wasn’t.”

“ _You don’t have to feed me, now_ ,” reasoned Julia.

“What’s the address?”

Julia rattled off the address and hung up the phone.

Sherlock closed the door to 221B and hailed a cab. Ten minutes later, he arrived at what was supposed to be Lestrade’s residence. Making sure his scarf was straightened, he pressed the buzzer. The door opened to reveal George Lestrade eating noodles from a greasy plastic container.

“Good evening, Lestrade. I’m here to-”

“Pick up Julia. Yeah, yeah, I know,” the other man interrupted, swallowing hastily. “How’d it go with John?”

Sherlock willed his face to remain neutral. All he wanted to do when he thought about John was grin. He was sure Lestrade would notice, though, so he kept it hidden.

“Fine.”

“Don’t play with me, Sherlock. I’ve been waiting for this almost as long as you have.”

Sherlock considered his response. “It’s good. But also none of your business.”

Lestrade shook his head but grinned. “I’ll get it out of you sooner or later.’

“No, you won’t,” Sherlock replied. “I don’t think you’d want to know.”

“I’m happy for you two. Come on, the kids are upstairs.”

“I’m only here for the one.”

Lestrade barked out a laugh. “The humor is new.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

The other man just laughed, leading Sherlock up the three flights of stairs to his apartment. When he walked inside, Sherlock was surprised to see Julia talking loudly, grinning as if she hadn’t a care in the world. She laughed, a melodic sound that Sherlock did not get to hear often. He winced at the childish jealousy still coursing through his system.

Julia saw him and sobered, her smile fading away until it was the whisper of a smirk. She finished her mouthful of food and nodded to him.

“Hello.”

“Hello.”

“So you… worked everything out, then?” she asked.

“Yes, yes.”

“That’s good.”

“Yes,” Sherlock repeated. “Well, we had better get home.”

“Right. Bye, Grace,” she said, hugging the girl. She turned to Lestrade’s son and blushed. “Will. Thanks for having me over, Lestrade.”

“No problem. She’s a good kid, Sherlock.”

“I know.”

Julia paused next to him. “You’ve got to pay him for the Chinese food.”

“I do not,” Sherlock replied, frowning. “It was his decision to buy you food, not mine.”

“You didn’t pay for lunch, either,” Julia said.

Sherlock sighed, pulled out his wallet, and handed a few bills to Lestrade. He nodded, gesturing for Julia to follow him down the stairs. They hailed yet another cab and climbed inside. Sherlock glanced over at Julia, who was staring at her hands and picking at her cuticles.

“What is it?”

Julia shook her head.

“Julia, tell me what is upsetting you.”

“I’m happy for you. I really am. But everything’s going to change now.”

“It won’t,” Sherlock said.

The girl looked out the window and chewed her lip. She didn’t say anything else.

Sherlock frowned. He wondered how Julia came to that conclusion. Sure, he and John were more or less together, now, but that didn’t mean anything would be altered between him and Julia. They would still see each other every day, they would still eat together, and they would still _talk_. Sherlock almost smiled. They would still play their detective game while watching telly.

Sherlock remembered how soon the school’s spring break ended. It would only be a fortnight at most until Julia had to face her first day. He wondered how she would react to all those new people, all the new questioning glances, all the new homework material. Perhaps Sherlock didn’t just wonder. Perhaps he even worried.

The cab stopped in front of their flat, and Julia bolted out of the car. She unlocked the door with the key Sherlock had had made for her and disappeared inside. Sherlock paid the cab driver and made his way up to the flat.

“Hi, John.”

“Hey. Did you have a good time at Lestrade’s?”

“I suppose so, yeah.”

Julia hung up her thin black coat and turned nearly out of the flat. Sherlock stopped in front of her and frowned.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m tired. It’s been a long day. Lots of people.”

“I’ve hardly seen you.”

The girl shrugged. “Not my fault.”

Sherlock stood dumbly in the doorway as Julia slipped past him. He looked at John, his eyebrows furrowed. The doctor’s eyebrows nearly touched his hairline, and his surprise was evident on his face. John nodded his head at Sherlock, encouraging him to call Julia back downstairs.

Sherlock sighed and called out, “Julia! Come back here.”

“Why?” came a muffled response.

“Because John and I want to talk to you.”

“I don’t want to talk to you and John right now,” Julia retorted. “Try me again tomorrow.”

Sherlock turned to John and shrugged. He flopped down on the couch and sighed.

“I wonder if Lestrade has a case yet.”

“Sherlock,” John said, ignoring his comment, “you’ve got to go get her.”

“No, I don’t. She’s right; it was a very long day for her,” replied Sherlock. “She met my parents and spent hours in an unfamil- oh, John, that’s _it_.”

“What did I miss this time?”

“I left her there, John,” Sherlock said quietly. “She had to drive in an unfamiliar car with a man she barely knows and spend hours in a flat that was entirely new for her, all the while wondering when you or I would finally seek out where she was.”

“Oh.”

Sherlock groaned. “God, I’m terrible at this.”

“Well, we didn’t expect for that to happen, Sherlock. It’s hardly your fault.”

“But it is, John. She should always come first. I didn’t put her first. That’s what parenting is, isn’t it? Putting your child above all else.”

“That’s a good part of it, I’d think.”

Sighing defeatedly, Sherlock stood. “I suppose I had better go talk to her then.”

“You know, Sherlock, I think she’s been good for you.”

The detective paused in the doorway. “Yes,” he said slowly. “I think she is, as well.” He thought for a moment, tapping his fingers against the doorframe. “It will be quite different around the flat when she goes off to school. Perhaps I should find a new hobby to fill my time.”

“Like what hobbies?” John asked, chuckling.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Oh, I might just brush up on anatomy, do some more complicated experiments, or something of the sort. I hear botany’s a promising field. I’m not sure what _you_ had in mind.”

John laughed. “Go talk to your daughter.”

“I’m trying to,” Sherlock replied. “Stop distracting me.”

He walked up the stairs and knocked softly on the door to Julia’s - his daughter’s - room.

~*~

Julia bobbed her head along with the music, her pencil scratching against paper. A square, strong head connected to a thick neck and body. There were muscled legs and feet with sharp talons, a tapering tail and horns on the head. With glaring green eyes and a glimmering smile, the jaw dropped open to let out a fiery breath. Black scales shone in the light, gleaming like spilled ink.

Despite existing only as framework on paper, the image of a mighty dragon came to life in Julia’s mind.

“What color is it?” asked Sherlock. Julia’s head snapped up at the sound, and she pulled one of her earbuds out. “The dragon. What color is it going to be?”

“Black.”

Sherlock hummed. “It will be hard to make the details clear if the whole thing is dark.”

“Not if you do it right.”

The man only nodded. Julia sighed and shuffled over to one side of her bed. Sherlock took the hint and sat next to her, leaning on the headboard.

“I apologize for my behavior at lunch.”

“That was fine. You were upset. I would’ve left right behind you if John hadn’t followed.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I- it was still childish of me to leave you there. Inconsiderate.”

“That’s fine, Sherlock.”

The man sighed next to her. “Learn to accept apologies differently.”

“Explain?”

“By telling me it’s fine, you are telling me that you wouldn’t mind if I did it again. Repeatedly,” he added.

Julia nodded. “Then I forgive you. Don’t do it again.”

“All right.”

They sat in comfortable silence as Julia sketched out the rough size and shape of the dragon. Sherlock glanced over at her paper every now and then, and Julia paused, waiting for his input. Every time, he only mumbled something like “That’s good,” or “Quite interesting,” leaving Julia to her own devices.

“Julia,” said Sherlock abruptly, “John and I- we’re not any… It’s not-” He sighed, throwing his head back.

“Take your time,” Julia teased.

Sherlock glared at her weakly. “My new… _thing_ with John isn’t more important than you are. It might have, er, come off that way, I know.”

Julia frowned, unused to the amount of sentiment the man next to her was expressing. She wondered absently if she was more unfamiliar with Sherlock’s emotions or with the feeling of being important.

“Oh. Well, it’s- it’s fine,” she said. “I know that you care about me.”

“I don’t really say it, though, do I?”

“No, but you don’t have to.” She paused. “You know, you’re being very feely today.”

“Feely?”

“Yeah, apologizing, telling me that I’m important. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining,” Julia replied. “It’s just not the usual you.”

“Ah.”

“Is John going to move back in? Now that you’re… what you are.”

“I’m not sure.”

“That’s new.”

“Most likely,” Sherlock said slowly, “he will move back into the flat. However, it might take a while to get to that point once more, considering that we would have to share a bed.”

Julia felt her cheeks flush. “Um, right, I know you’re both men, but I feel obligated to say-”

“Please don’t. Whatever it is, don’t say it.”

“-you need to be careful. Uhh, use condoms.”

“How do you know what condoms are?” Sherlock demanded.

“I asked Will and Grace because I thought they would be able to tell me, but Will got really red so Grace had to say it. It was awkward.”

“I… I’m just glad I don’t have to explain it to you now.”

“Yeah, I think that would’ve been worse.”

Footsteps sounded on the staircase. Both Sherlock and Julia turned to the sound, and John walked into the room. He stopped and smiled when he saw the two of them on the bed.

“It’s late,” he said. “I’d better be heading home.”

John walked over and planted a firm kiss on Sherlock’s lips. Julia ripped her eyes away and felt her face heat up. Staying completely still, she stared at her drawing.

She could feel John’s gaze on her, so she glanced upwards.

“Sorry,” he said, looking sheepish.

“It’s fine, I’m just not used to- to people, um, kissing. My parents didn’t- and Moran…”

“That… makes sense,” John replied slowly.

“It does,” Sherlock agreed. “If it makes you uncomfortable-”

“What- no, don’t… don’t _not_ kiss just because of me. People kiss each other all the time. I’ll just have to get used to it.”

John nodded. “Right. I’ll stop by tomorrow, then, Sherlock.”

“Goodnight, John,” Sherlock replied, squeezing the other man’s hand.

“Night, love. Julia.”

John’s footsteps disappeared down the stairs, and Julia sat back on the bed.

“You’re sweet,” Julia commented.

“What?”

“You and John are sweet. I’m glad you worked it out.”

“So am I.”

“Have you realized he dresses kind of like your dad? Like, really similarly?”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Sherlock was silent, his brows furrowed.

"Beauty is a construct based entirely on childhood impressions, influences, and role models."

"Okay."Julia smiled. She erased the bone of a wing, frowning.

Sherlock took a breath. “Spring break starts soon.” Julia froze. “Which means it ends not long after. I think that would be a reasonable time for you to go back to school.”

Swallowing hard, Julia replied, “Really? Is that a good idea?”

“I know it might be hard for you, but you cannot stay home forever.”

Julia shook her head. “I won’t know anyone. What if they ask about my scars? Who wants to be friends with someone with scars?”

“Is that what you’re worried about?”

Julia bit her lip. “I just don’t think anyone would like me very much if they knew I had them.”

Sherlock frowned. “I don’t see why they should care. John saw all of my scars today. He didn’t say a word.”

The girl paused. She looked at Sherlock cautiously, considering what she’d just heard. “You… you have scars?”

“Of course I do,” he replied. “I was once stabbed with a broken beer bottle in a pub during an undercover case. Countless others on cases I’ve had over the years. The marks on my arms from the needles are mostly faded now, but I can still see them in the bathroom light. And I used to hurt myself, too. The ones on my arms have started to fade. I can barely see them even though I remember where they all are. Most of them were on my legs, though. Anyone could see those.”

Julia swallowed. “John didn’t…”

“Not a word,” Sherlock repeated. “I expected him to say something. I’d completely forgotten about it, but then I saw the stripes and I just froze. He simply asked me if I was all right.”

“Maybe I’ll meet my John, then.”

“Not until you’re older,” Sherlock warned.

“It took a while for you and your John to get together, didn’t it? You started off as friends.”

Sherlock nodded. “I’d better keep an eye on your friends, then.”

“I’ve only got Will and Grace.”

“Yes, but you’ll be attending Will’s school. You’ll see him almost everyday.”

“I remember,” Julia said softly.

“Julia, you’ll do fine at school. Your coursework with Anthea is exceptional, and you show great promise academically. I see no reason to keep you from being a normal sixteen-year-old girl.”

“Okay,” Julia replied.

“You can take an art class,” Sherlock added.

Finally, something about school to make Julia smile.

John slept at the flat three nights that week, and each time, Julia had to fight to keep her blush off her cheeks. Of course, her subconscious ignored the more convenient times to torture her, instead choosing the moment she was the most vulnerable.

On the night Julia woke up sweating, her breath coming in short gasps, John Watson was sharing Sherlock’s bed.

Julia’s eyes burned, and a soft whine escaped her throat. Her heart was pounding, and all she wanted was for it to stop. She wanted it to _stop_. She could talk to Sherlock; he would understand. He would try to help her. Sherlock would definitely help her. Julia kicked her sticky covers off her legs and flung them over the side of the bed.

She paused as she realized that she couldn’t go into Sherlock’s room. The man hadn’t come upstairs, nor had the violin begun to play, so it was most likely Sherlock was actually asleep. He slept more often now, thought Julia absently. Perhaps he was getting over his nightmares and couldn’t be bothered with hers.

Julia crawled back into bed, sitting against the pillows. She pulled her knees up to her chest in her usual pose and breathed in deeply, trying to remember what Sherlock did the last time he’d had to run upstairs.

“You’re all right,” she whispered to herself. “They’re not here. They’re gone now. You’re safe. It’s safe here. You’re in your room, in Baker Street. Sherlock and John are right downstairs.”

The next breath she took hitched, and Julia buried her head in her bee pajamas, tugging at her hair to distract herself from the night. She tried to focus on the pain; it was too much but it wasn’t enough; it wasn’t right. A few strands of hair simply fell out when she let go.

Julia bit her lip and clenched her fists, digging her fingernails into her palms. She breathed in through her nose, squeezing her eyes shut. Gently, Julia uncurled her hands and stared at the red crescent-moons indented into her skin.

Wide awake, Julia wriggled under the covers and pressed the side of her face into her pillow. She wrapped her arms around herself and closed her eyes, figuring that if she faked it for long enough, she could eventually fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I didn't really know where to fit this in the last chapter, so here you are: 
> 
> Julia’s ringtone for Sherlock is a recording of him playing the violin. She recorded him early one morning after she'd had a nightmare and neither of them could sleep. He doesn’t know.  
> Sherlock’s ringtone for Julia is Cemeteries of London by Coldplay. It’s the first song of hers that he’s ever listened to, when they’d only known each other for a few days. Julia doesn’t even know he remembers.
> 
> I have other little things like this. I'll do my best to put them into the fic, but if I honestly can't figure it out, I'll stick them in the notes.
> 
> Progress report: I'm currently working on chapter nine, and I want that done by tomorrow night. I also have the outline for the rest of the fic done, so hopefully soon I can go back to posting once a week.


	4. Normal Person

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock does some thinking, and Julia meets Will's friends  
> The title of this chapter is "Normal Person" by Arcade Fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Please remember to keep the tags in mind. Also, feel free to ask me questions or tell me if anything seems inconsistent.

Sherlock was awakened when the bed dipped. He cracked his eye open in time to see John buttoning up his shirt. He smiled to himself and stretched, cracking his back in the process.

“Good morning,” Sherlock drawled sleepily, turning to lie on his back.

“Morning, love,” replied John, grinning. He leaned over the bed and dropped a soft kiss onto the tip of Sherlock’s nose. “I’ve got to get to the clinic. I’ll stop by after my shift ends, yeah?”

Sherlock hummed in agreement. He sat up and watched John leave, sighing. Deciding that he should probably get out of bed, Sherlock ran his hands through his hair. He got up, threw on his dressing gown, and padded into the kitchen. He made himself tea, but made sure there was enough water left in the kettle for Julia to make herself a cup when she made her appearance.

Sherlock settled in his chair and drank his tea while going through the comments on John’s latest entry. He checked his emails, frowning the whole time. The woman who suspected her husband was cheating was actually in a love affair of her own. The money wasn’t stolen; an estranged daughter transferred it from her parents account to hers. Boring. Boring. Boring

Julia trudged into the sitting room, fidgeting with her sleeves. The girl disappeared into the kitchen and returned a few minutes later with a cup of tea in her hands. She sat on the couch and sipped absently, something else obviously on her mind.

“You had a nightmare,” Sherlock deduced bluntly.

“Yeah.”

“You’re… all right?”

There was a pause this time. “Yeah.”

She raised her hand to pick at her lips. Sherlock frowned at the action, knowing now that it had been more difficult for Julia than she wanted to let on. The detective caught sight of red marks on Julia’s palm and wondered what was hidden there.

“May I see your hands?”

Julia clamped her fingers around her forearms. “What for?”

“No, not your arms, your hands. Come over here.”

The girl walked over to him cautiously. He gently took her hands and unfurled her fists. He closed his eyes, shame flooding through him. He had failed her.

“It was bad,” Julia whispered. “I couldn’t. I’m sorry.”

"You could have come to me."

Julia stood still, her eyes not moving from the small red marks on her skin.

"Julia. Why didn't you come to me?"

"I didn't want to bother you and John."

“You need to always come to me. Whenever you feel like this, no matter where I am or what I am doing, you come to me.”

“But you and John-”

“-were sleeping, yes. Humans do tend to need that. But you know I don’t need much sleep to begin with. The next time you feel this way, come to me.”

“I’m sorry. I just- It was too much.”

“Don’t be sorry. I apologize for letting you think you couldn’t come to me.”

“You don’t like talking about feelings.”

“No, but the wretched things must be dealt with, mustn’t they?”

Julia nodded.

“What do you want for breakfast?” asked Sherlock.

“I’ll just make some toast.”

“If that’s what you want.”

“You’ll eat, too?” the girl asked hopefully.

“Yes,” he replied. “Blueberry jam.”

“All right, just a minute.”

The girl disappeared into the kitchen and returned with two small plates. She ate slowly, her eyes roaming around the room. They sat in silence, Sherlock going through John’s blog and Julia watching the television. The girl’s phone buzzed, and she texted back quickly. Sherlock didn’t think much of it, but frowned when Julia did.

“You’re texting William, yes?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“He asked if I wanted to go to a thing at his friend Kieran’s flat.”

“Do you?” Sherlock questioned, his eyebrows raised.

“Do I what?”

Sherlock resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Want to go.”

“Oh, um, one second.” She tapped something out on her phone. Less than a minute later, she spoke again. “He says there would only be eight people there, including him and me. One of those people would be Kieran’s mum.”

“If you want to go, I don’t see why you can’t. Will you be comfortable?”

“Probably not, but I should know some people before I start school, right?”

“That would be a good idea.”

“Okay. It’s, um. It’s actually tomorrow,” Julia replied. “Do we have anything planned for tomorrow?”

Sherlock shrugged. “Unless a case comes up, which I doubt it will.”

“Okay, good. Um, Will said he could give me a ride. If you wanted.”

“I’d prefer to meet the people I’m leaving you with,” Sherlock admitted, noting how Julia’s shoulders relaxed. “I can take you there.”

“All right,” Julia replied. “You won’t stay the whole time, though, right? I mean, you don’t have to.”

“No, just long enough to see what kind of people they are. We wouldn’t want you to be gallivanting about with a gang of drug dealers.”

“They don’t sell drugs.”

“Are you sure?” Sherlock replied, smirking.

“I’m pretty sure.”

Sherlock just wanted to make sure they wouldn’t hurt her. He trusted Lestrade’s son enough to let Julia go in the first place, but there was going to be a crowd of children her age. Sherlock also knew how cruel children could be, and he didn’t want Julia exposed to it. He would have to get over it when she actually went to school, he supposed, but for now, he was allowed to be as overprotective as he wanted.

Hopefully this little meeting would gain her some allies before she started. Things could get ugly for Julia, and if Sherlock couldn’t be there, he wanted someone who was able to be with her.

“Sherlock?”

“Yes?”

“Is everything okay? I don’t have to go.”

“No, no! You should go. I’m just thinking. Nothing important.”

Julia nodded. “All right, then.”

Sherlock nodded back to her and picked up his laptop. Without John in the flat, and with Julia texting Lestrade’s son, he really didn’t have much to do.

Julia was mostly self-sufficient at her age. If she were younger, perhaps Sherlock would have to help with homework or make sure her room stayed tidy or even brush her hair. It would’ve been tedious and horrifyingly dull, but Sherlock found himself wondering about children’s books and dollhouses and brown-bag lunches. He thought of bedtime stories and making study flash cards and arranging play-dates.

Yes, it was all terribly domestic, but Sherlock longed for the memories that they didn’t have. He despaired silently the years they had lost being apart, the years in which he had not had a daughter.

Soon - much too soon, it seemed - Julia would be going to school and making friends. She would be able to go to others for comfort. Eventually, she would go to university, and Sherlock wouldn’t see her for months on end. Julia was so close to leaving, and Sherlock hated it.

“Sherlock? What is it?”

“I wish I’d gotten to you sooner,” he said. “I am truly sorry.”

“You couldn’t have known.”

“I should have.”

The next day, Sherlock woke up with his nose tucked into John's neck. He inhaled the doctor's clean scent before rolling over to check the time. It was a little after seven. Sherlock closed his eyes tightly and nuzzled into John's chest. He didn't want to get out of bed.

It was odd, to be so content doing nothing, but Sherlock found that when he was with John, he couldn't bring himself to care.

John, however, had different ideas. He kissed Sherlock’s head and broke himself free of the detective’s grasp.

“Tutoring is at nine, right?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“We had better get ready. Just because I’m off today doesn’t mean you are, too.”

Sherlock groaned. “I have no cases, John.”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

“Yes, yes, I know.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes as John climbed out of bed. He lay still as John changed back into the clothes he’d worn yesterday. John always brought pajamas when he stayed the night, only to change into the clothes he’d already worn. Sherlock thought it was tedious and unnecessarily complicated. Why couldn’t John just leave some of his clothes here? There was enough room in Sherlock’s dresser for John’s belongings. If that didn’t work, there was always enough space in Sherlock’s room for another one.

“Are you going to get out of bed, love?” asked John, grinning as he buttoned up his shirt.

“Why do you call me that?”

John paused. “Well, I- I do love you, Sherlock. Very much. If you don’t want me to call you tha-”

“What? No!” Sherlock interjected. “No, John, it’s… good. It’s fine. Keep, uh- keep doing it.”

“All right,” John said, smiling faintly. “You do really have to get out of bed, though. It’s nearly half past.”

“I know. I’ve got to make breakfast.”

John scoffed. “Julia does that.”

“I can make breakfast, too.”

“Do you ever?”

“Occasionally.”

That comment elicited a laugh from the doctor, and Sherlock huffed into his pillow. He sat up slowly, stretching out his back. He let out a little noise when it cracked, and his face flushed slightly. He opened his eyes and glanced at John, whose face was also red but for a very different reason.

“I think you do this to me on purpose.”

“Do what, John?” Sherlock replied, smirking. He got out of bed and pulled a suit out of his dresser. He stripped quickly and efficiently, not making any fuss over John seeing him. After pulling on his pants and trousers, he buttoned up his own shirt - a purple one - and sauntered into the living room.

“Good morning,” Julia greeted from the couch. Her nose was, once more, buried in one of Sherlock’s science textbooks.

“Hello.” Sherlock frowned at her clothes. Those were the same pajamas Julia was wearing on Thursday… “Have you changed your clothes at all within the last two days?”

The girl looked up at him over the book. “No…”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Go shower and change. Anthea will be here at nine.”

“Well, it’s just that I never leave the flat anyway.”

“You have a thing today,” Sherlock reminded her. “At someone’s mum’s flat. So you’ve got to change.”

“Can I just finish this page?”

“Can you finish the paragraph and use a bookmark?”

“Yeah, fine. Are you going to make breakfast or should I?”

“It’ll be ready by the time you’re out of the shower.”

Julia sighed. “All right, I’m going.”

Twenty minutes later, Julia was clean and eating pancakes in the kitchen, obviously surprised at their quality. John was less vocal about his appreciation, but Sherlock knew he was grateful, too.

“Why don’t you make breakfast more often?” Julia complained after swallowing a mouthful of pancake, strawberries, and whipped cream. “This is really good.”

“You’ve loaded such a ridiculous amount of sugar onto that plate that I’m surprised you can still taste the pancake,” Sherlock replied easily.

Julia gasped in mock indignance. “I have not! I know how to properly enjoy a pancake.”

“Do you really?”

“Yes, I do. I’m enjoying this particular pancake immensely.”

“It’s more like you’re enjoying the toppings.”

“My choice of toppings doesn’t affect the fact that you should make breakfast more often.”

“You know, she’s right, love,” John put in. “You should make breakfast more often.”

Sherlock sighed and agreed to a sort of breakfast-making schedule, which he found ridiculous but Julia found absolutely necessary.

Two hours later, he was listening to John type on his laptop and Julia ask questions about the American Revolution. Something about Paul Revere, perhaps, or maybe a tea party. Sherlock didn’t care.

“I thought George Washington wanted America to stay neutral after the revolution.”

“He did. America didn’t listen.”

“Does that happen often?”

Sherlock chuckled.

"Why do I need to know about America anyway?"

"The Unites States is one of the most influential countries in the world. Many of Mr. Holmes's international relations deal with the U.S."

"Oh. Well then, I suppose that's okay. What does Mycroft do, again?"

"We've had this conversation before, Julia. I'm not allowed to say."

Julia sighed and went back to her worksheet.

Nearly three hours after that, Anthea had just left the flat, and Julia was sulking.

“What is it?” Sherlock asked. “What’s bothering you?”

“Nothing.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “You know you can’t lie to me.”

“I know. You should be able to deduce it, anyway.”

“That’s not usually welcome,” Sherlock reminded.

“Is anything in our life usual?”

Sherlock nodded in agreement and sat in his chair. He looked at Julia, who was sprawled out on the couch. “You don’t have to worry. They’ll like you just fine. Wear long sleeves if it would make you more comfortable.”

“Yeah. You’re right.”

“I know.”

Forty-five minutes later, Sherlock and Julia were standing in a stranger’s flat. Julia stood close to him, as if she were afraid of the other teenagers in the room.

There was a girl with honey red hair and warm blue eyes. She was around Julia’s age, although Sherlock couldn’t be exact. She had a square jaw and a straight nose, and her arm was wrapped around another girl. Girlfriends - obvious. Her clothes were in good condition but not new, and they didn’t fit her quite like they should. Older sister, at least one, similar enough in size that they could share clothes.

The second and only other girl in the room was the oldest of three children, one of them being a toddler if the applesauce stains on her shirtsleeves were anything to go by. She had dark hair, eyes, and skin. There were callouses on her fingers telling of her talent for playing some sort of string instrument. Sherlock had similar callouses on his own hands from his violin.

There were three boys in total, none of them being William Lestrade. Sherlock frowned at this but read the boys easily.

The shortest boy had blond hair and blue eyes. He was arrogant and confident, an only child. His parents, like a good number of the parents at the school Julia would be attending, were fairly wealthy and careless with their riches.

The second boy was adopted. His dark eyes were shielded by thick glasses. He had a younger sibling, most likely a brother who was adopted as well. The boy was scrolling through something on his phone, totally oblivious to the kids around him. From the reflection in his glasses, Sherlock could tell that he was reading.

The tallest boy had light brown hair that nearly covered one of his dark blue eyes. He looked just like the woman Sherlock had greeted at the door. He had a sister, judging by the report card on the fridge addressed to a child named Greta.

Mrs. Ivers - Nora, as she introduced herself - was recently widowed. She was wearing her wedding ring, but the only trace of her husband was in family photos scattered around the flat. Her graying brown hair was pulled into a bun, and her tired eyes were accented by dark eyeshadow. Her clothes were pressed, and her nails were immaculate. Nora Ivers was a professional woman.

“So, how long have you been living in the area?” Nora asked, smiling at him friendlily. “Kieran tells me that you’ve just moved here.”

Sherlock frowned. “No, that was just Julia. I adopted her in January.”

“ _Legally_ ,” Julia put in. “But I was living with you before that. September.”

“Yes, I remember,” Sherlock replied. “Now, Julia, if it’s all the same to you, I’ll be leaving now.”

“I- sure. It’s just that Will isn’t here yet… Why? Do you have somewhere to go?”

“No, not at all.” Sherlock turned to Mrs. Ivers once again. “What time should I pick her up?”

“Oh, any time,” she answered. “Around eight, maybe?”

Sherlock glanced at Julia. “We’re having dinner with Mrs. Hudson tonight at six,” he lied. “We could always reschedule. She is our landlady.”

“Um, no, that’s… that’s all right. Six is fine.”

Sherlock nodded. “Good.”

~*~

“You’re Julia, right?” asked the blue-eyed boy. "I'm Kieran."

He held out his hand, and Julia shook it delicately. She smiled faintly as he flipped light brown hair out of his black-lined eyes. She took in his outfit - a band shirt and dark skinny jeans - and grinned.

“Yeah. Hi. I like your shirt.”

Kieran’s eyes lit up. “You listen to Arcade Fire?”

Julia nodded. “‘Suburban War.’ ‘We Used to Wait.’”

“Ah, both good ones. I personally like ‘Normal Person.’”

“That’s a really good song,” Julia agreed.

“Will should be here soon,” said Kieran. “He’s always late. Probably who you’re waiting for. Come on. I’ll introduce you to… well, everyone, I guess.”

Julia looked at Sherlock. He shrugged and nodded. Julia supposed it would be fine to come out from behind her shield of black wool-covered consulting detective.

“We don’t actually have a name for ourselves,” Kieran added, still talking away. “We should make one. I mean, you’re here too, now, so you can help us come up with one.”

“I- okay,” Julia replied.

“Right. First things first. Oliver!” he announced.

“What?” the dark-skinned boy asked, looking up from his phone. His hair was short and the color of dark chocolate. His matching eyes were framed by large glasses. “Oh. Hi. I’m Oliver.”

“Yes, Oliver, we’ve already covered that,” Kieran replied, not missing a beat. “You’ll most often find Oliver with his nose buried in a book or his eyes glued to his phone.”

“Ah, shut up. You’re just jealous because you’ve never cracked a book before.”

“Sure. Go back to being a nerd. Reading at a social event,” Kieran scoffed.

“Gladly. Harry Potter’s more interesting than you are anyway.”

“Ooh, burn!” called the redheaded girl. “He’s right, Kieran. You don’t have any cool scars.”

“Oh, haha. That’s really funny.” Kieran rolled his eyes at the redhead but gestured to her with a smile. “That’s Eleanor, and h-”

“My name is Lena Bartlett,” the girl interrupted. “Don’t call me Eleanor.”

“That’s _Lena_ ,” Kieran corrected, “and her girlfriend Ruby. Ruby plays the guitar. Lena can’t do anything.”

“Hey, I’m the best football player on the girls’ team.”

“Yeah, Lena’s a wicked footie player!” Ruby exclaimed. She wiped her manicured hands on her jeans. “I’m Ruby. I don’t go to school with you guys, but I’m around often enough to see all Lena’s games. She’s a beast on the field.”

“That’s interesting,” Julia replied. “I’ve never played before. My mum didn’t like it.”

“Your mum’s crazy.”

“She was,” Julia agreed.

The girls grinned, and Julia smiled back. Someone tapped her on the shoulder, and she jumped. The blond boy was standing in front of her, his hands in his pockets.

“Hey,” he said. “I’m Noah.”

“No, no, no,” Kieran complained. “Introducing you is my job.” He turned back to Julia and frowned, shaking his head in apology. “Julia, this is Noah. He’s on the football team with Will. He likes photography, too.”

“That’s nice,” Julia said. She bit her lip, searching for something to say. “I, uh- I prefer drawing, myself.”

“I lack a lot of artistic skill,” Noah laughed. “All I have to do with photography is click a button and play around with the picture on photoshop.”

“Oh. Yeah, a bit more than that goes into drawing.”

Noah grinned, and Julia felt her lips curl up in a smile. She looked at Sherlock, who was watching the proceedings with a careful eye. He caught her gaze and quirked his lips.

There was a knock on the door, and Kieran ran to answer it. Will stepped into the room, and Julia felt relief rush through her veins.

“Hey, dipshit,” Lena called. “You’re late again. We had to introduce your friend without you.”

“Her name is Julia,” Kieran reminded.

“You didn’t do a very good job of introducing her.”

“Sorry,” Will apologized, looking sheepishly at Julia. “My mum was working, and I had to call my dad to drop me off. Grace is still at home, reveling in the silence, most likely.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” Julia replied. “Your friends seem really nice.”

“Yeah, they’re weird, but they’re good.”

Julia didn’t talk much for the hour after Sherlock left the flat. She was just nervous; what if she said something the others didn’t like? Did they even like her at all?

Lena and Ruby were in each other’s arms all through the afternoon. They held hands and kissed a lot. Each time, Julia had to look away. Wasn’t it supposed to be a private thing?

“Hey, Julia, can you help me with the ice cream?” Kieran requested, nodding towards the kitchen.

“Um, yeah,” she replied, tugging her sleeves down.

Once they were out of sight of the others, Kieran turned towards her, a stern look on his face.

“Do you have a problem with Lena and Ruby?”

Julia paused. “What?”

“Lena and Ruby. You don’t have a problem with them being together, do you? Because if you do - I mean, you seem really nice and all, but if you do, then you’ve got a problem with at least half of us.”

“Well, I mean- I thought-” Julia stammered. “I thought kissing was supposed to be a private thing. No one’s supposed to see it.”

“Listen, just because they’re both girls-”

“What?” Julia interjected. “You think- oh, no.” Julia chuckled. “I really thought that. No one ever showed a lot of affection in my old family. I don’t care that they’re girls. My dad’s got a boyfriend.”

“Oh. Okay, then. Apologies. Do help me with this ice cream, though.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“So,” Kieran said, counting out ice cream bars, “you said ‘your old family.’”

“I did.”

The boy turned around, a frown on his face. “You don’t have to tell me. I’m just curious. I have no business knowing anything you don’t want me to.”

Julia smiled faintly and nodded. “Thanks. Maybe I’ll tell you guys later. I just… I don’t know any of you all that well. Will doesn’t even know. I mean, I’ve told him, but he doesn’t actually understand.”

Kieran rolled his eyes and sighed. “He’s such a dumbass - excuse my French. Have you tried explaining it to him? Normally you have to do it in excruciating detail.”

“Well, he doesn’t take it seriously,” replied Julia reluctantly. “It’s kind of hard to do, honestly. It sounds like I’m making everything up.”

“He could always check with your dad about it if he’s doubting the story.”

Julia nodded absently. “I suppose he could.”

“If you want him to know, just tell him again. Try explaining things in detail. He’s a smart kid, but he’s so oblivious that sometimes it makes me want to cry.”

Julia laughed out loud. She flushed and clapped her hand over her mouth. Kieran looked at her strangely.

“It’s okay to laugh.”

“I know, I know,” Julia replied, her face only getting redder. She gestured to the sitting room. “We should…”

“Yeah, o’course.”

Julia nodded and followed Kieran back into the living room, carrying three ice cream bars in her hands. She sat cross-legged on the floor next to Will and leaned her back against the couch. She handed an ice cream bar to the boy and unwrapped her own.

Noah and Will soon grew bored with whatever Lena and Ruby were watching on the telly. They ignored the girls’ protests and turned on Kieran’s gaming system. The three boys started playing Mario Kart, and Julia laughed along with them as Noah bumped Will’s car off the racing track.

“No, no!” Will shouted. “What are you doing? Kieran!”

“I’m trying, I’m trying! Cut me some slack; that banana peel lost me two places.”

“You guys can’t team up against me in a _race_ ,” complained Noah.

“We don’t care who wins as long as it’s not you,” Will replied immediately.

“Yeah, if Will wins, I count it as a personal victory.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair!” cried Kieran.

Julia bit her lip and tried not to laugh too hard. She turned when someone tapped her shoulder.

“You’ve barely said anything in, like, two hours,” Ruby said. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yes,” Julia replied. “I don’t really talk much. This is the first time I’ve actually left my flat in months.”

Lena furrowed her eyebrows. “What do you mean? Why?”

“I just don’t know many teenagers. I was travelling for a few years so I couldn’t go to school. My dad got me a tutor after he adopted me.”

“Travelling? That’s super cool,” Ruby said.

Julia tried to smile. “I didn’t enjoy it so much.”

“I’d give anything to be in your place.”

“Oh,” Julia replied, frowning. She turned away from the girls and fixed her gaze on the telly.

“Hey,” Ruby said, “sorry. Well, it’s good that you’re in London now, right?”

Julia smiled. “Yeah. It’s really good.”

“Hey, Jules,” Will called. “You wanna play this round?”

“She can’t play Rainbow Road,” Noah said. “She hasn’t had years of experience.”

“How would you know that?” Kieran demanded. “Julia could be a master of Mario Kart. You just don’t wanna lose again.”

Noah frowned. “I’m not gonna lose. Rainbow Road is _my_ track.”

“Dude, Rainbow Road is _nobody’s_ track.”

Julia smirked. “Yeah, I’ll play. Hand me a controller.”

At Will’s house a few weeks earlier, Julia had discovered her affinity for racing games. They’d played at least five different games, and each time, Julia had won. Her favorite track had been Rainbow Road because Will had a tendency to shout disapproval at the telly.

“You three can’t gang up on me then.”

“Fine, fine,” Will replied. “Come on, Jules. This'll be fun.”

"What? What is this?" Noah cried ten minutes later as Julia passed him for the second time. "You're not even trying. This isn't fair."

"Well, it's not like it's challenging," Julia replied. "Dealing with the track is difficult, but you’re not even in my way often enough to be an obstacle.”

Noah huffed in response.

When Julia won the track for the third time, she decided to call it quits. It was only fun for so long. After she turned in her controller, she sat down gingerly next to Oliver. It was somewhat difficult, as the boy was sprawled across the loveseat.

When he noticed her there, Oliver swung his feet around so they were on the floor and smiled sheepishly.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Thanks,” Julia replied as she brought her knees up to her chest. “Uh, what’re you reading?”

“Rereading, actually. _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_.”

Julia frowned. “What number is that?”

“The fifth.”

“Oh. I haven’t read that.”

Oliver froze and looked up from his phone. “Really?”

“Yeah. I got halfway through the third book, I think, before my mum threw it away. She didn’t like the books.”

“Why not?” Oliver questioned. “That’s ridiculous.”

“I think it was because the Dursleys treated Harry so badly,” Julia replied immediately, surprising herself. Really, if she thought about it, it made sense.

“Yeah, but he’s a wizard. He leaves them and goes to Hogwarts. He’s a disappointment to them, but in the wizarding world, he’s a hero.”

Julia shrugged. Maybe Oliver wasn’t going to understand.

“Wait, are you saying that your mum treated you like…?”

Or maybe he was.

“It definitely wasn’t as bad,” Julia said softly. “Don’t make a big deal. Please.”

“Oh, yeah. I mean, no! No, o’course not.”

“Thanks.”

“But now I know what I’m getting you for your birthday.”

“My birthday’s in January.”

“Damn.”

Julia chuckled. “Would it be all right I borrowed them?”

“Yeah, that’d be fine.”

“Great, thanks!”

Julia’s phone buzzed, and she slipped it out of her pocket immediately.

_(5:42pm) Are you ready to be picked up? -SH_

She bit her lip and looked around. They weren’t really doing anything; Ruby and Lena were talking on the couch in between rooting for one of the boys playing Mario Kart. Julia and Oliver were silent, as they were both on their phones.

Julia had had a good time, and she really did like Will’s friends, but she was tired. She’d barely been able to sleep the night before, since her stomach had been churning with nervous energy. She’d only gotten about three hours of sleep, which she supposed would be sufficient if she were, say, Sherlock.

_(5:43pm) Yes. I’ll be ready._

_(5:43pm) I'll be there in ten minutes. -SH_

"My dad is on his way," Julia announced.

"What?" Will demanded. "Why?"

"We're having dinner with Mrs. Hudson. My landlady," she explained.

“Oh, all right,” Kieran replied. “Let me see your phone for a minute, will you?”

Julia handed it over, confused but not overly concerned. She watched as Kieran spent just a few moments typing before shutting off her phone.

“I texted myself,” Kieran explained, seeing her bewildered expression. “Now you have my number, and I have yours.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

“Give it here,” Lena commanded.

Kieran looked at Julia for approval, and, when she nodded, handed the phone to the redheaded girl. After she was done, she handed it to Ruby, who passed it to Oliver, who gave it to Noah. The blond boy winked at Julia as he returned her phone.

Julia looked at Will and smiled. She wouldn’t be alone now. She had people she could feel safe with. But Will was frowning at Noah, his brow furrowed. When he caught her gaze, though, he grinned.

When Kieran opened the door to reveal Sherlock, Julia grinned.

“Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah. Bye, guys.”

“We’ll add you to the group chat,” Kieran replied.

“The what?”

“We have a group chat,” Will answered. “I’ll explain later.”

“Um, all right.” Julia turned to Sherlock. “We should probably get going, right?”

“Probably.”

“Right. Thanks for inviting me. I’ll see you… later? Yeah.” Julia smiled. “Bye.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I usually don't do this, but do you guys want to see anything specific in this fic? I figure, since it's the last one, I'd take some suggestions. I have most of it planned, but I could always use ideas from you guys!


	5. Kill Your Heroes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Julia both visit Edgewood Institute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is "Kill Your Heroes" by Awolnation.
> 
> This school is completely fictional. I tried to find a legitimate school near Baker Street but none of them fit the story.
> 
> Also, I'm really sorry I didn't update last week like usual! I was on vacation, and it slipped my mind.

“Stop worrying,” Sherlock said. “You’ll do well.”

“How do you know?”

Sherlock sighed. He and Julia were in the lobby of Edgewood Institute, a moderately prestigious sixth form and secondary school that was a mere twenty-two minute cab ride from Baker Street.

It wasn’t a particularly large school, at least not as large as the boarding school Sherlock had attended. It was three stories tall, but it was thin, with two rows of classrooms on each floor. The cafeteria took up half the ground floor. Next to the school was the gym, and behind that was the track and rugby field. Edgewood was home of the two best football teams in London.

There were nine periods a day, each exactly forty-two minutes long, and school was dismissed at exactly two forty-five.

Sherlock had done quite a bit of research on Edgewood Institute.

“Mycroft got you the best tutor in London,” he replied. “He doesn’t keep Anthea around for nothing. You’ll do well on the tests. It’s only placement.”

“But what if I’m placed in classes with thirteen-year-olds?”

"Then you're placed in a classroom with thirteen-year-olds."

" _Sherlock_ ," Julia whined.

"You will do fantastically on these tests, Julia," Sherlock replied. "And it doesn’t matter to me if you’re placed below your age. The fact that you are here at all is something to celebrate.”

“Going to school isn’t an accomplishment.”

“No, my letting you go to school is an accomplishment.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’d be perfectly content to have you at the flat all day. However, that isn’t really an intelligent choice.”

“That would be fine with me,” Julia replied, frowning.

Sherlock scoffed. “You say that now. Ten years from now, however…”

Julia nodded. “Fine. I get it.”

“You’ll enjoy it.”

“I feel like I’ll be really stressed all the time.”

“You might be, but you don’t have to be.”

“Sherlock, what if I’m placed in low classes?”

“Ms. Holmes, if you’ll follow me, please,” a receptionist said, straightening his glasses. “I’m- uh, do you need a minute?”

“No,” Sherlock said. He turned to Julia again. “It won’t matter to me what classes you’re placed in. Do your best. I’ll be here when you’re done.”

“Okay, Julia replied. “Thanks, Sherlock.”

Julia followed the receptionist down the hall and into an office. The man walked back alone and caught Sherlock as he turned to leave.

“Er, Mr. Holmes?”

“Yes, what is it?”

“Dr. Newberry would like to speak with you. Finalizations and things.”

Sherlock closed his eyes. “Yes, of course. Lead the way.”

The receptionist smiled. “Hopefully it’ll be doable without Mrs. Holmes here to put her word in, yeah?” he joked, nervously running a hand through his ash-brown hair.

“Dr. Watson and I share the same concerns when it comes to my daughter.”

The younger man blushed. “You’re not married, then?”

“No.”

“Oh, that’s- that’s good, then. You’re unattached.”

“Not quite,” Sherlock replied easily. “What sort of papers do I have to look over?”

“Oh, tuition, school uniforms, emergency contacts,” the man listed. “Plus, Dr. Newberry likes to know each family personally.”

“What if I do not want to know Dr. Newberry personally?”

“You’ll have to take that up with him, sir,” the receptionist chuckled, pointing Sherlock towards a door.

The detective entered the room and sat in one of the chairs facing the big, dark desk. Behind the desk sat a broadly smiling man. He cleared his throat and held out his hand. “Hello, Mr. Holmes. I’m Dr. Newberry, but you can call me Walter.”

Sherlock resisted the urge to roll his eyes and shook Dr. Newberry’s hand.

“I was told there were important matters to which I have to attend.”

“Right to the point, eh, Mr. Holmes? Straightforward. I like to see that in a man.” He grinned again. “Yes, yes, there are some papers you have to fill out.” The headmaster handed Sherlock a stack of papers and a pen. “We’re sure June will be-”

“Julia,” Sherlock ground out.

“Yes, of course. Julia will be a wonderful addition to Edgewood.”

“Yes, I think so as well. You are exceedingly lucky to have her.”

“It’s heartwarming to see such a supportive father,” the headmaster commented.

Sherlock hummed in response, thumbing through the papers absently.

Two hours, four legal papers, five schoolbooks, one school tour, and a cup of coffee later, Sherlock was still waiting for Julia to finish testing. He’d put in orders for her school uniform - they were supposed to be sent to the flat within the week - and decided on a carpool schedule with Lestrade and his kids. He’d managed to solve two cases that had been in his inbox and send an email to John for each one so the doctor could detail them in his blog.

Sherlock was brought out of his Mind Palace by shuffling feet. The young receptionist stood awkwardly in front of him, wringing his hands.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. Holmes. I- I was wondering if you wanted another coffee.”

“No, thank you, Mr. Arkman.”

“Is there anything else you need?”

“No. I am fine, thank you.”

“Your daughter just started her science test. It’s the last one.”

“Ah, she should be done soon, then.”

Sherlock sat back and went through his inbox again. Surely there was something he could solve now. There had to be something. Sherlock didn’t know if he could take another two hours sitting in a too-soft lounge chair and making uncomfortable small talk with the receptionist every time the man wandered over. The detective had promised both himself and John that he would behave, if only to make prospects better for Julia.

It was another forty minutes until Julia emerged from the office. A small wave of relief washed over Sherlock. He smiled faintly as as made her way towards him, but frowned as he read her body language.

“What’s a vector quantity?” Julia questioned immediately.

“Physics. Dull but necessary. Why?”

“I didn’t know it. I thought you might.”

“You haven’t learned that yet,” Sherlock explained. “It wasn’t on Anthea’s curriculum. You don’t need to know it right now. You’ll be learning it shortly, I presume.”

“Oh. Okay, then.”

Sherlock knew better than to ask Julia how she did on the tests. It was evident from their earlier conversation and the hunch of her shoulders that she was worried about her score. She didn’t want to think about it anymore. Sherlock understood that.

“Your uniforms should be at the flat within the week.”

“Uniforms?” Julia asked. “What do they look like? Are they ugly?”

“They’re all right, I suppose. Gray skirt and blazer, white button-up, royal blue tie.”

“Oh. At least it’s not plaid.”

“Yes. It’s not plaid.”

Sherlock hailed a cab, and the pair of them rode back to Baker Street in comfortable silence. Julia hopped out of the car and unlocked the door to the flat. Sherlock carried the stack of books inside.

“We need notebooks and pens and a pencil case and folders and- a lot of things.”

“Yes, we’ll go shopping tomorrow.”

“Okay, good.”

“Are you-” Sherlock hesitated, hanging his coat next to Julia’s. “Are you happy?”

Julia frowned at him but nodded, replying, “Of course I am. Why?”

“I am simply looking out for your health.”

“Oh, well, I really am,” she said. “Thanks, Sherlock.”

“And your, er, _friends_ are good? To you.”

Julia nodded. “And John is good to you?”

Sherlock hesitated, glancing down at the girl by his side. “Yes.”

“When are you going to ask him to move back in?”

“What?”

“When are you going to ask John to move back into the flat?” Julia repeated. “He sleeps here already. And he does most of the shopping. It would be more convenient to have him around all the time than just ninety-seven percent of the time.”

“All right,” Sherlock allowed. “You have a point.”

“I have several points.”

Sherlock didn’t reply. Instead, he walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge. He frowned at the lack of body parts and pulled out the milk.

“You must be hungry.”

“Don’t change the subject,” Julia complained, sitting at the table. “Why don’t you want him to move back in?”

Of course Sherlock wanted John to move back into the flat. It wasn’t as if he _liked_ John living on his own. He always wanted the doctor with him, but sadly, that wasn’t actually possible. John liked privacy sometimes, especially when it came to mundane things like sleeping or showering. Although, that was before Sherlock had left, and John did seem to enjoy sleeping in Sherlock’s bed. The detective wondered absently if he could convince John to change his stance on the other issue.

“Sherlock?”

“It’s different now, though, isn’t it? We’re not- We aren’t-” Sherlock said, trying to find what he was trying to say. “It’s just different, isn’t it? As much as it pains me to admit, I have very little understanding of romantic relationships.”

“I don’t think anything has to be different,” Julia replied. “You lived together before you got… together, didn’t you?”

“Yes. However, that’s exactly it. We weren’t together then.”

“You two are already used to living together,” the girl pointed out, “and John stays over more often that not. The only thing to change will be where John keeps his clothes.”

“I think I’ll make grilled cheese for lunch,” Sherlock replied, changing the subject but still mulling over Julia’s words.

“And tomato soup?”

“Anything you want.”

~*~

Julia woke up slowly. She cracked her neck, stretched her arms, and rubbed her eyes. She rolled to her side to check the time - only half past six. So why was her alarm buzzing?

She shut it off and trudged downstairs, where John was already awake and making tea. Julia walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge. The doctor set two cups on the counter, saw the girl, and took out another.

“How do you like your tea?”

Julia shrugged. “Whatever Sherlock does but with an extra spoonful of sugar.”

“O-kay,” John replied slowly. “And are you good for breakfast?”

“Yeah, I can make something.”

“Make sure you have enough time,” John warned. “You and Sherlock have to catch a cab by seven-thirty if you want to make it to school in time for orientation.”

Julia’s eyes widened, and her stomach flipped.

“Right."

"You forgot, didn't you?"

“Maybe.”

John shook his head. “Go get dressed,” he said, smiling exasperatedly.

Julia ran back upstairs, passing Sherlock as she went. Once in her room, she threw off her pajama bottoms and wriggled on a pair of shorts that barely covered her thighs. She grabbed one of her skirts out of her closet and buttoned it at her waist. It fell right above her knees.

She pulled on her white knee socks and slipped on her black flats. Julia buttoned her dress shirt and grabbed her silver blazer before sitting on her bed and struggling over her tie. Sherlock had tried to teach her how to tie it, but apparently he’d deleted the information on account of him never actually wearing ties.

John had had to help them. It made it easier, he said, if one were to tie it around something else first and then slip it over their head. At least, until one figured out how to put it on the right way.

Julia stood and wrapped her tie around one of the bedposts. She tied it expertly, her nimble fingers finding exactly the right tension to tie the perfect knot. It wasn't that difficult at all if it wasn't around Julia's neck.

She genuinely hated her tie. It was always tied too tightly, no matter how much she loosened it. She felt like it was trying to suffocate her. When she expressed these feelings to Sherlock, he had furrowed his brows and said, “You'll get used to it eventually. You'll be fine.”

Julia sighed and went back downstairs to make herself something to eat. She walked into the kitchen and grabbed her tea, which was perfectly sweet and only slightly cold.

“I took the liberty of making you toast,” Sherlock called from the living room. “I assumed that you were going to have more trouble with your tie.”

“I got it,” she replied, picking up the plate of toast on the counter. “Thanks, Sherlock.”

“You two have about twenty minutes before you have to go,” John said. “Do you have all your books?”

“Yeah. I’ll check again.”

“You checked four times last night,” Sherlock reminded.

Julia paused. “Right. I did.”

“Everything will be fine,” John said, folding his newspaper. “Now, I’ve got the early shift at the clinic, so I have to be off. Goodbye, love.” He cupped Sherlock’s jaw and gave him a soft kiss on the lips. Julia blushed and looked away. “I’ll come round for dinner. Don’t blow up the flat while I’m gone.”

“I’ll make no promises. Goodbye, John.”

The doctor huffed and turned to Julia. “Er, have a good day at school.”

“Thanks,” she replied. “I’ll try.”

John grabbed his coat and closed the door behind him. Ten minutes after that, Julia’s toast was eaten, her backpack was slung over her shoulder, and her uniform was flawless. Sherlock sat stiffly in the cab next to her.

“Don’t be nervous,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re tense and drumming your fingers,” replied Sherlock.

“So? I do that all the time.”

“Mm, no.”

Julia rolled her eyes and turned to him. “How can I not be nervous? How long has it been since you’ve been to school?”

“Longer than I’d like to admit.”

“It’s been six years since I’ve been to any kind of school.” At Sherlock’s questioning glance, she clarified, “I remember the day.”

Sherlock nodded. “Well, I assume it’s like riding a bike. You’ll get right into it as you become more comfortable.”

Julia frowned. “You’re not very good at the comforting thing,” she said. “It just sounds like you’re lying.”

The detective sighed. “Would you like to hear what I really think?”

“Yes,” she replied. “It’s one of the things I like about you. You wouldn’t lie to me.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “You wouldn’t.”

Sherlock pursed his lips before turning to look out the window. “No.”

Julia nodded to herself. “Will you tell me, then?”

“It’s your first day in a new place. You barely know any other children that attend this school. You’re going to meet more people today than you ever have before. You’ll be expected to remember their names and class schedules and the route to all of your own classes. Teachers will struggle to ‘catch you up’ on everything you’ve missed.

“You’re going to have homework, and you’re going to get lost, and you’re going to be the only person feeling confused or overwhelmed, considering the others have all been in the school since at least January. You’re going to be uncomfortable, you’re going to be stared at, and you’re going to be talked about. Everyone will know you, but you won’t know any of them.”

Julia swallowed. “You don’t think I can do it.”

“I didn’t say that,” Sherlock replied. “I know you can do it. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. You have endured much worse than high school, and I intend to never let you endure anything so horrific as long as I live. If I thought you could not handle being in school, I wouldn’t make you go.”

“But what if I can’t?”

“You can.”

“What if I need you?”

Sherlock paused. Julia wondered how he couldn’t have considered that already.

“Why would you need me?” There was awe and genuine confusion in his voice, and Julia found herself bewildered that someone so widely considered to be a genius could be so blindingly stupid.

“I don’t know. I might. For something.”

“You are welcome to call or text me.”

“Really?”

“Yes, of course,” he replied absently. “If you need me.”

Julia sighed and looked out the window, watching the cars speed by. She picked nervously at her cuticles. Another few minutes passed by in silence. Sherlock didn’t say anything else or make any effort to relieve the tension in the cab. Julia desperately wished he would. She couldn’t stand it if she had to sit in this uncomfortable silence much longer.

The cab came to a stop outside Edgewood Institute. Julia grabbed her bag and slipped out, slamming the door behind her. The other door slammed as Sherlock followed suit. He leaned into the cab and asked the driver to wait for him. Julia frowned but didn't say anything.

Sherlock walked to the main office of the school, and Julia followed slowly behind him. She hitched her bag higher on her shoulder. After listening to Sherlock talk briefly to the same receptionist they’d seen last week, Julia was given an ID and her class schedule. She turned to leave, straightening her back and nodding to herself.

Julia could do this. She had to do this. She had to prove to herself that she could. Sherlock seemed convinced, so it was likely Julia would be fine, but even that knowledge didn't help calm her jittery nerves.

"Julia?"

She bit her lip. Students started to trickle through the hallway. A few cast them curious glances, but most of them walked past without paying them any attention.

“I’m fine,” she said, swallowing hard. “I’ll be fine.” She turned to Sherlock, forcing a smile onto her face. When she saw it wasn’t working, she dropped it.

Sherlock put his hands in his pockets and looked past her. “Don't be surprised if the other students here are complete morons.”

Julia laughed. "What?"

The detective shrugged. "Teenagers, as a general rule, are idiots. Don't be surprised if you're more intelligent than they are."

The corner of Julia’s mouth twitched up in a smile. It- It was just such a _Sherlock_ thing to say. She shook her head, grinning widely now. Sherlock smirked down at her.

Julia could feel Sherlock’s whole body tense the moment she wrapped her arms around his waist. Soon, large, uncertain hands gripped her shoulders hesitantly, and all the tension in the detective’s body bled out. Julia breathed in deeply, trying desperately to keep her eyes dry. She would not cry. She would _not cry_.

Her shoulders shook.

Sherlock tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “Julia?”

“I never-” She choked. _I never thought I’d be here._

“Yes, I know.” Sherlock stepped away from her, his hands still on her shoulders. “Dry your eyes, now. It wouldn’t do to send you to class with a red face.”

Julia sniffled and wiped her eyes. “Thanks, Dad.”

Sherlock’s entire body froze. His smirk had faded away, replaced by a slight scowl. The fingers around Julia’s shoulders tightened fractionally. Clear blue eyes - eyes that were once cold, now familiar and reassuring - searched hers desperately, flicking from left to right and back again.

“Sherlock?”

The detective swallowed. He blinked a few times and opened his mouth to speak, but he closed it quickly. It was almost as if he didn’t know what to say. Julia would’ve laughed if she hadn’t been so shocked by the realization of what she’d just said. It turned in her stomach like an ocean, waves crashing against the sand and threatening to overflow.

 _I’m going to throw up_ , she thought.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. It just sort of happened.”

“Don’t apologize. I understand.”

“You’re not angry with me, then?”

“Julia, you should know that it doesn’t matter what you choose to call me. I must tell you, however, that I do not deserve to be called your father.”

Julia shook her head. “That’s not true.”

“I’m afraid it is.”

“Well, you told me once that people rarely get what they deserve. You don’t think you deserve it, so that means you do. Right?”

Sherlock smiled faintly. “That’s not quite what I meant; although, I suppose it does.”

“I have to go.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I’ll see you later, then.”

“Yes.”

“Bye.”

“Goodbye, Julia.”

She turned once again and took a deep breath.

 _Into battle_ , she thought, and walked into the hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ!  
> (I guess you could call this a notice of my impending hiatus.)
> 
> Hi, guys!
> 
> First of all, I'd like to thank every one of you for all your reads, comments, and kudos. Thanks for all the love and support you've given me and this fic. It's more than I could ask for!
> 
> On to the important bit.
> 
> This November, I'm going to participate in Nanowrimo. The objective of this is to write a novel in 30 days. Since I'm in the youth category, my goal is 30,000 words. This means I will have to write 1,000 words a day for 30 days straight. I won't have any time left for writing (or reading) fanfiction. My plan is to begin preparing and writing a foundation in October, which lets me smoothly transition into writing quite frantically in November. In December or January, after all this craziness is over, I will resume writing Promise of Love. After that, I'm taking a long break from writing at all.
> 
> I will try my hardest to finish writing Promise of Love before October begins. If I continue writing at the pace I am now, that goal might not happen. At this point, it's looking like I won't finish in time. So, I won't be posting regularly or much at all from October to December. However, as soon as I finish writing Promise of Love, be it in September like I'm hoping or in January of 2016, I will resume posting as frequently as possible.
> 
> All I ask for is your patience as I work on a project that is very close to my heart. Thank you all for your support and for reading this little letter of mine.


	6. Hollow Tune

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock visits the morgue, and Julia makes a call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be aware of the tags! I'd hate to trigger anyone.  
> The title of this chapter is "Hollow Tune" by Brick + Mortar.  
> You guys should comment any ideas you have for upcoming chapters. I'm always open to suggestions!  
> Thanks for reading :)

Sherlock hated everything. He hated crap telly, and he hated his empty inbox. He hated the failing experiment in the kitchen, and he positively _loathed_ the silence that seemed to cover everything in the flat like a thick wool blanket. It was unbearable.

With John at the clinic and Julia at school, Sherlock’s list of people he found tolerable was quickly growing shorter. He’d called Lestrade twice already, insisting that the Yard must have something for him to solve, and that they couldn’t _possibly_ have had no new murders in the past week, but the older man hadn’t given anything away.

“We can solve cases on our own, Sherlock. There’s a reason we’re here and not making change at Tesco.”

“I’m sure there are some cold cases left from my time away.”

“Not one, Sherlock. I’ll call you if we have a particularly baffling case, all right?”

Sherlock sighed. “Fine.”

He hung up his mobile and threw it on the couch. His brain was racing. He hadn’t had a good case in weeks. They were so easy, so mind-numbing that he could feel himself losing brain cells every time he solved one.

It was horrid, being in the flat alone, slowly being smothered by silence. But it was even worse outside the flat. There were so many tedious people with boring lives and obvious problems. Sherlock loathed it.

However, he despised the silence more.

After a few seconds of careful deliberation, Sherlock grabbed his wallet and keys, heading out the door. He was at Bart’s in no time.

Molly wasn’t in the morgue when Sherlock walked in. The detective assumed she had gone to get coffee, since it was much too early for lunch. He took a seat on one of the stools and took out his phone.

_(10:03am) Bored. - SH_

Sherlock sighed, drumming his fingers against the counter. After a few minutes of John not replying, Sherlock was debating rifling through the cabinets in search of spare body parts. He was dangerously close to it when Moly walked into the room. She paused in the doorway, talking to someone else and giggling.

“Bye, George. Yes. Yeah, I’ll see you tonight. Goodbye.”

Molly closed the door and ducked her head, a bright blush spreading across her cheeks.

“Why are you seeing Lestrade tonight?” Sherlock asked abruptly.

Molly nearly jumped out of her skin.

“The detective inspector? Why would I need to see him?”

“That is why I was asking you,” Sherlock replied. “I hope you are aware that he is… intimate with my brother.”

Molly blushed. “I’m not meeting Greg.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “Who?”

“Greg Lestrade. He works at the Yard. He’s a Detective Inspector, and, apparently, your brother’s… intimate partner. I’m not meeting him. I’m meeting George Wright. He works in the maternity ward. Office romance.”

“Let’s hope this one goes better than the last, then,” Sherlock replied half-heartedly.

Molly frowned. “What do you want?”

Sherlock tried his best to look innocent. Molly didn’t look impressed.

“You always come here for something, Sherlock. Don’t play dumb with me. It doesn’t work.”

“I’m bored.”

“Well, I suppose John would be at the clinic. Where’s Julia? You haven’t left her at the flat, have you?”

“No, of course not. Julia’s at school.”

“School?” Molly exclaimed. “That’s wonderful! She told me that she’d be attending, but I didn’t know she started today. Oh, Sherlock, that’s fantastic.”

“Yes, yes, the joys of education. Minds being improved, horizons being broadened. That’s fine. It’s all fine. I, however, am stuck in an empty flat practically rotting away from boredom.”

“So, why come here?” Molly questioned. “Why not go to Scotland Yard and see if Greg has a case?”

“I’ve called him twice already. He has nothing of interest.”

“There’s nothing on your blog?”

“Not a single thing.”

“All right,” Molly said slowly, considering. “Still, why come here?”

“Whatever do you mean, Molly?”

“There must be something wrong. You don’t need any more body parts; you know you won’t get those from me willingly. You’d have to steal them, and if you wanted to do that, you’d have been long gone by now. I wouldn’t have seen you.”

“Nothing is wrong.”

“Sherlock, I’m not an idiot. I can tell when you’re lying.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, even though Molly had a point.

“Julia called me ‘Dad’ today.”

Molly smiled softly. “Oh, Sherlock. That’s wonderful. I’m so happy for you.”

The detective shook his head. “I can’t be her father, Molly.”

“Obviously you can. She’s doing well, isn’t she?”

“That has nothing to do with me.”

“No, it has everything to do with you, Sherlock, and you know it.”

“I’ve given her a place to live and a school to attend. That’s all.”

“In other words, a home and a future.”

Sherlock frowned.

“You’ve given her a family, too, Sherlock. You and John, your parents, your brother and Lestrade. Even Mrs. Hudson and me.”

“‘You and John?’” Sherlock questioned.

Molly sighed. “Greg told me. I’m happy for you two. It’s nice that you’ve finally done something about it.”

“I assumed you would be… upset.”

“You were gone for two _years_ , Sherlock,” said Molly. “Having you as a friend is better than not having you here at all.”

Sherlock looked down at his hands before gazing steadily at Molly.

“I’m sure there’s something you can give me. I need something to do. There can hardly be a _lack_ of corpses.”

“I can’t let you have anything, Sherlock. I nearly got fired the last time you nicked something from me.”

“No, we can’t have that,” he said, frowning. “But I’m so unbearably _bored_.”

“I can’t do anything to help you with that.”

The detective sighed, running his hands through his hair. “There’s nothing to do at the flat. Julia is at school. John’s at the clinic. His gun isn’t even at the flat.”

“Why… why would you need John’s gun?”

“I’m _bored_ ,” Sherlock repeated.

“And John’s gun helps with that how…?”

“Oh, you know. It’s entertainment.”

Molly furrowed her brows. “That’s not safe. I doubt Mrs. Hudson appreciates the noise _or_ the damage. Now, Sherlock, don’t you go about making life harder for that lovely woman.”

“Yes, yes.” Sherlock drummed his fingers on the table impatiently. His brain was starting to race again, and he fought to control the onslaught of thoughts flying around his skull.

He needed a cigarette.

Sherlock’s fingers sped up their tapping. His leg started to bounce. Sherlock cleared his throat and darted his eyes around the room, searching for something to alleviate his boredom. The detective’s body was quickly growing as restless as his brain.

There was always so much on Sherlock’s mind. Cases - he needed one, badly. Lestrade didn’t have anything for him, though. Experiments - they were all boring. He’d done them all, he figured. John - he was strong and smelled of lemon and unavailable at the moment. Julia - she was at school, meeting new people and getting used to a new place. She’d called Sherlock ‘Dad.’

This thought concerned Sherlock more than all the others. Obviously, Julia didn’t hold him to very high standards if she already thought of him as her father. Sherlock would have been surprised to hear if she’d considered him anything more than a flatmate, perhaps even a friend. That worried Sherlock precisely because he was himself. Sherlock Holmes did not get surprised. He knew everything, anticipated everything. Why didn’t he anticipate this?

It had come as quite a shock to him when Julia had uttered that _word_. She’d seemed so sure of it. The girl hadn’t even given it a second thought until she’d seen his face. Sherlock cursed himself for that moment of weakness.

Julia hadn’t listened to Sherlock when he tried to explain that he couldn’t possibly be considered her father. He simply didn’t deserve it. It wasn’t his place. That was already taken, be the owner deceased or not.

Sherlock furrowed his brow. Where was his place? ‘Flatmates’ was too general a term to describe them. If the detective was honest with himself, he and Julia weren’t simply _friends_ , either.

Yes, Sherlock definitely needed a cigarette.

“Sherlock, are you feeling all right?” asked Molly.

He nodded.

Julia hated cigarettes. Nicotine patches it was.

~*~

“Julia Holmes?” the woman in front of the class questioned. She was short and a bit round, with a pile of dark hair atop her head. She smiled widely and gestured to the only empty seat in the classroom, next to a girl with tan skin and ash-brown hair. “That’ll be your seat, dear. My name is Ms. Winter. Welcome to honors English!”

“Thanks,” Julia said softly. Her eyes darted around the room and landed on two familiar, grinning faces. Will smirked at her as she passed, and Kieran gave a little wave. She smiled at them as she walked to her seat.

“Amelia,” said Ms. Winter, “I trust you’ll help Julia with any questions she might have?”

“Definitely.” Amelia’s thin lips spread into a warm smile as Julia sat down. Her eyes were dark brown, and she had a small, button nose. Her uniform was impeccable.

“Hi,” Julia said.

“Hi! I’m Amelia Glastrow.”

“Julia, er, Holmes.”

“Can I see your class schedule? I’ll try to make a map for you. Where’s your locker?”

Julia handed over the sheet she’d been handed that morning. Amelia looked it over quickly and frowned.

“We have some classes together,” she said. “Just English, biology, chemistry. I’m taking French II.”

“Oh.”

“So, the quickest route through the school… After this class, you’re gonna want to head straight to chem. After that, you can stop by your locker and get your algebra and French stuff. Then you can go back and get your lunch and books for your afternoon classes. Your bio, history, and art stuff. Got it?”

“Uh, yeah. I think so. Thanks.”

“No problem. You can just ask if you need anything else.”

Julia considered this. She pointed to the boys near the front of the classroom. “Um, do you know their schedules?”

“Will and Kieran?”

“Yeah. Oh, and, um, Oliver too. I know them from outside of school. They never told me their schedules, so…”

Amelia nodded. “I can get them for you.” She leaned forward and tapped the boy in front of her on the shoulder. He turned and raised an eyebrow in question. “Can you get Will and Kieran’s class schedules for me? Thanks, Jamie.”

The boy nodded and turned around. “Oi, Lestrade,” he whispered.

“The hell do you want, Summers?”

“Gimme your schedule. Ivers, too.”

Will seemed to consider it for a second. “All right, one minute.”

Julia smirked as he scribbled down his schedule on a loose piece of paper. He nudged Kieran and handed the paper over. Kieran spent far less time writing, and instead of handing it to Jamie, gave it back to Will, who rolled his eyes. Kieran took the paper back and began to write again.

They ended up passing the paper between them quite a few times. When Julia finally got it, she couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Between Will’s schedule and Kieran’s, there were a few lines of scribbled text.

_I already know your schedule, you idiot._

**It’s for Julia, dimwit. Write yours down**

_Well how was I supposed to know that?_

**I assumed you were smart enough to figure it out**

_You just hand me a piece of paper with your classes on it and I’m supposed to know to write mine_

**Just write it, for God’s sake!**

_All right, all right, don’t get your knickers in a twist_

**Kieran, I swear to all that is holy…**

_Hi, Julia! Will’s a bit touchy today, isn’t he? Anyway, if you need help getting to any of your classes you can ask one of us. Amelia’s okay, too. She’s on the class council. I am too, by the way. If your next class is chem, we can walk together._

Julia smiled.

“It looks like Kieran’s got the same classes as you do.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, he must be on the same track. So, really, you could just follow him around all day. You and I have the next two classes together. And Oliver. He’s got most of my classes.”

Julia nodded. “Okay, good. So… I won’t be alone?”

“Not likely,” Amelia replied. “All the eleventh years have lunch together. You’re welcome to sit with us if you want.”

“Oh, right, yeah. Thank you. Thanks. I might sit with them, though. I-I already know them.”

“Right, of course! Well, anytime you need something, I’ll be here.”

“Thank you,” Julia said.

“So, what do you like to do?”

“I can draw. Um, shouldn’t we be paying attention?”

“Oh, as long as we get our work done, Ms. Winter is fine if we talk.”

Julia furrowed her brows. “What work am I supposed to be doing?”

“We’re reading _Alice in Wonderland_. If I were you, I would read it before final exams. I think it’s okay. It’s a bit less exciting than the movies, but it’s good.”

“Oh, I’ve read that. I liked it.”

“One less thing for you to do, then!” Amelia laughed. “You can read off my question sheet if you’d like. You said you liked to draw?”

“Yeah. And, you know, thanks. For the questions.”

“No problem. Do you draw, like, cartoons?”

Julia tilted her head. “I’ve never thought of drawing cartoons. Mostly it’s sketches and stuff. Portraits. Still-life. Fantasy, sometimes, when I’m bored.”

“Wow. I’d love to see some of your stuff. You know, I really love art, but I’m such a hopeless artist.”

“I’m sure you can’t be that bad.”

“Oh, it’s pretty bad.”

Eventually, the bell rang. Julia nearly jumped out of her seat when she heard it. She gathered her books and bit her lip.

“You have chemistry next, right?” she asked Amelia.

“Yeah, c’mon. I’ll walk with you.”

Just then, Kieran, Will, and Oliver appeared by Julia’s desk.

“Hey, Jules,” Will greeted. “What’s your next class?”

“Chemistry. I was told Kieran and I have the same schedule.”

“Sweet,” Kieran replied. “Let’s roll.”

Julia nodded. She turned to Amelia, who was gathering her books slowly, her head down.

“You coming?”

“What? Oh, I- yeah.”

Will and Kieran looked at each other and smirked. As soon as the group of them made it to the hallway, the two boys flanked Julia, walking briskly through the crowd of students, Amelia and Oliver four or so feet behind them.

“Here’s the thing,” Will began. “Oliver’s got the biggest crush on Amelia. He’s absolutely smitten.”

“It’s downright adorable,” Kieran interjected. “Not a day goes by without one of us catching him staring.”

“The problem is that Oliver’s too shy to ask her out.”

“Like, _way_ too shy. He barely even talks to the girl.”

“Right. So, we’re doing everything in our power to get them together.”

“Yeah. Any chance we get.”

“O-kay. What do you want me to do?” asked Julia.

Will grinned. “You’ll help us?”

“Of course she’s gonna help us, dimwit.” Kieran smiled widely at Julia. “Having a girl on our side is gonna be a _huge_ advantage.”

“What do you mean?” Julia questioned. “Don’t you have Lena?”

“Lena’s a _lesbian_. She can’t wax lyrical about Oliver’s virtues and sound convincing.”

Julia considered this. “How do you know I’m not a lesbian?”

Will nearly choked. “ _What_?”

“Then our plan goes to shit!” Kieran replied. “ _Please_ tell me you’re straight. At least that you like guys. Please.”

“It’ll be fine. I know what I’m gonna do.”

“All right, tell us how it goes,” Kieran said. He looked at Will, worried. “I think you broke him.”

“What?”

“I think you broke him. Will? Will, you there, buddy?”

“Wha- Yeah, I’m good. Hi.”

“Hey, there, big guy,” Kieran replied slowly. “You okay, there?”

“Shut the hell up, Ivers.”

“As you wish, sweetheart.”

“I hate you.”

“Ditto.”

Will sighed as Julia laughed. Kieran stuck his tongue out and ushered Julia into a room on the left.

“See you at lunch, losers,” Will called as he disappeared into the classroom across from them.

The next few periods, although stressful, passed uneventfully. Kieran led Julia to all of her classes, dishing out tips on how to deal with all the teachers in the school. He hardly stopped talking. Julia was grateful for the break. All through algebra, she’d sung praises about Oliver. Amelia had blushed heavily but didn’t oppose a single thing that came out of Julia’s mouth. However, when Julia had criticized his music taste, Amelia defended him softly but determinedly.

Kieran was overjoyed at the news.

Julia, however, was going to be sick. Not because of Oliver and Amelia’s obvious crushes on each other, but because she was on the verge of having a panic attack.

She’d gotten so many assignments to do just so she could catch up to the other students that she wouldn’t have time to do any of the homework that was due the next day. Julia had to write a paper about herself and _present it_ to their English class, finish a packet of algebra problems to practice for the exam on Friday, and learn fifty words (and their definitions) in chemistry.

Everyone knew her. Everyone was looking at her, talking about her, whispering, staring, wondering. She was the center of attention even when she tried to blend in. She couldn’t walk through the hallway without feeling eyes on her back, on her face, on her arms. They didn’t know about her scars; Julia knew that. But it still felt like they could see right through her blazer, like their eyes were burning holes into her arms. Everyone looked at her. Everyone knew her.

She had to get out.

“I know where the cafeteria is,” Julia told Kieran. “I’ll be there in a minute. Go.”

Kieran frowned. “Okay. Be careful, all right? You don’t look so good.”

“I’m fine,” Julia lied.

She stopped by her locker and put her books away. Julia slipped her mobile phone into her skirt pocket and rushed to the bathroom, where she locked herself in the stall farthest from the door. It took her approximately three seconds to find the number she was looking for.

_“Julia? What’s wrong?”_

“Sherlock?”

_“Yes, what is it? What’s wrong?”_

“I can’t do it, Sherlock. I can’t stand it here. Everyone sees me, they all see.”

_“Julia, you’re okay. You’re all right.”_

“No, I’m not,” she protested. “I’ve so much to catch up on, and they all think I’m stupid, and they can all see, Sherlock, they see.”

_“They can’t see anything, Julia. They’re morons, remember?”_

“I need to come home. You need to come get me. Please, Dad, I need to come home.”

_“Listen, now. All right?”_ Sherlock demanded. Julia swallowed. _“You’re panicking. That’s fine. That’s perfectly fine. Listen to me now; listen to my voice. Can you do that?”_

Julia nodded, forgetting she was on the phone. “Yeah,” she croaked.

_“Good. Loosen your tie and breathe. Name five things you can see, right now.”_

“There’s toilet paper,” Julia said. “The stalls are yellow. It’s terribly ugly. There’s a poster on the door advertising the spring dance, but that was weeks ago. The tile is green and doesn’t match the paint on the stall. There’s a lamp here, too.”

_“That’s good. Now, four things you can feel.”_

“My uniform. My tie feels like satin. I know it’s not, but it feels like it. I think my shoes are sticking to the floor. This is not quality toilet paper. We should complain to the office.”

_“We’ll do that. All right, now. Breathe again. Three things you can hear.”_

“I hear your voice. I think there are some kids in the hallway, but no one’s coming in here. They’re probably late for lunch.”

_“One more.”_

“I- are you in a cab? I can hear the cars driving past you.”

_“Good deduction,”_ Sherlock replied. _“Two things you can smell.”_

“I’m in a bathroom.”

_“Fair enough. Breathe once more, then tell me one thing that makes you happy.”_

“Living in 221B.”

_“Good. Are you feeling better now?”_

“Yeah.”

_“I’m about five minutes away.”_

“What? Why?”

_“You said you wanted to go home. Is that not the case any longer?”_

“Well, I’ve only got a few periods left. Just… I’ll see you when Will’s mum drops me off, okay?”

_“Call if you change your mind.”_

“Dad?”

_“...Yes?”_

“Thank you.”


	7. Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets a call, and Julia gets hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is "Ride" by Twenty Øne Piløts.
> 
> I'm so sorry this took so long! I finished the fic around the beginning of November, but I haven't had time to sit and upload all of it what with writing my original novel and dealing with loads of homework. I apologize for the wait, and I intend to upload these last chapters fairly quickly. As in tonight. I hope it was worth it?

“John, come back to bed.”

“You brought Julia to school already? She’s got football practice today, right?” the doctor questioned, pouring water into a pair of coffee mugs. John turned and paused when his eyes landed on Sherlock, who was already taking off various articles of clothing. He smiled. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to get back into bed.”

“I thought your body was just transport,” John replied. “Why would you want to go _back_ to sleep?”

“Who said anything about sleeping?”

“You dirty man,” laughed John.

Sherlock couldn’t help but grin at John’s amusement. He started unbuttoning his shirt as he walked down the hall and into the bedroom. His heart stuttered for a moment before he heard John come down the hall after him. Sherlock was already in bed by the time John stood in the doorway.

“This tea isn’t going to waste.”

“Bring it here, then.”

John smirked, set the mugs down on the bedside table, and crawled into bed. He untangled the sheets from Sherlock’s legs and covered them both neatly. Sherlock immediately moved closer to John, wrapping his arms around his waist.

“Let me get settled, first, love.”

Sherlock sighed. John took a few sips of his tea before rolling over and gathering Sherlock in his arms.

The detective’s mind turned to molasses. It was still the same onslaught of information rampaging through his brain, but kissing John, holding John, even being near the doctor was enough to slow it all down. Wrapped up in everything _John_ , it was unbelievably peaceful inside Sherlock’s head.

John rested his chin on Sherlock’s head, one hand carding through his curls. Sherlock buried his face in John’s neck, breathing in the doctor’s scent: tea and aftershave. The men’s legs were entwined, and Sherlock couldn’t care less that they were were going to sweat practically through the bedsheets.

They ended up like this on most nights - wrapped up in each other until they were merely a mess of tangled limbs. More often than not, they were in the other’s arms. Sherlock particularly liked this, having John so close to him. They slept peacefully, although every once in a while one was awoken by the nightmares of the other. On those nights, they managed.

“So,” John began softly, stroking Sherlock’s hair, “what’s all this about, then?”

“Nothing,” Sherlock replied. “My mind was loud this morning. I wanted to calm it down. You work like a charm, John.”

“That’s a good thing, right?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And, um… Sherlock.”

“Yes, John?”

“I… I’ve tried to avoid asking. I know it’s not- not my business, but- And you don’t have to tell me, either. This is just me asking.” John rubbed his palms across the planes of Sherlock’s back, soothing him, making his eyes droop. “Where did you get the scars on your back, Sherlock?”

The detective froze. His heart sped up. He swallowed, preparing himself.

“While I was… away, I was frequently undercover. Most of the time, I went unnoticed. Sometimes, I didn’t.”

Sherlock felt John swallow.

“I figured it happened while you were gone. How- Sherlock, it looks bad. Painful. How did you get through that?”

“Very easily, John. It was simply a matter of wanting to be finished with it all. If I got through the tor- more difficult times, then I would eventually get back to you here in London.”

“And I wasn’t there when you did.”

“Don’t do that to yourself, John. You’ve always been there. You’re just closer now.”

“I still don’t like it. I should have been there. I should’ve spent more time with you.”

“John, it’s fine.”

The doctor pulled Sherlock closer to him, dropping a kiss on his forehead. Sherlock kissed John’s shoulder in return.

“Will you stay?” the detective mumbled.

“Hm?”

“Will you stay with me?” he repeated. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“Why would I leave you, Sherlock?”

“No, I meant: Will you move back in? To 221B. Here. If you don’t want to,” Sherlock said, “you obviously don’t need to. It was just an idea; Julia and I were discussing it earlier. We both think it would be beneficial to our lives here if you were here as well. It would also be beneficial to y-”

“Yes, of _course_ I will,” John interrupted. He laughed and pulled away from Sherlock, cupping his jaw tenderly. “Of course I will, love.”

Sherlock grinned. John brought their lips together, both of them smiling stupidly. It wasn’t the most refined kiss in the world, but Sherlock found he really didn’t care.

“I love you.”

“And I, you, John.”

The men lay together in comfortable silence, enjoying the other’s company. It was only interrupted when Sherlock’s phone rang about an hour later.

“It’s Lestrade,” he announced, bringing the phone to his ear. “Yes?”

“ _Morning, Sherlock_.”

“Do you have a case for us?”

“ _We do. We’ve tried everything, but we’ve got nothing. No DNA, no connections, no enemies, no leads whatsoever. You up to it?_ ”

“Text me the address. John and I will be there shortly.” Sherlock hung up the phone before Lestrade had a chance to reply. “John, we’ve got a case.”

The detective leapt out of bed, hastily throwing his clothes back on. He was nearly out the front door when John called him.

“Sherlock!”

“Yes, John?”

The doctor frowned. “You didn’t drink your tea.”

“John, this case is at least a five. Can we please get going now?”

John chuckled and followed Sherlock out the door. Twenty minutes later, they were strutting onto a crime scene, Sherlock’s coat flapping behind him.

“Sherlock, John,” greeted Lestrade. “The body’s upstairs. Apartment 346C. Come on.”

The men made their way up to the right apartment. Outside, Sally Donovan was apparently trying to keep a young woman from going inside. The woman was hysterical, sobbing and complaining that they wouldn’t let her in the flat. Sally barely glanced at Sherlock as they passed. She was too preoccupied with talking the woman out of it.

As they entered the flat, the seriousness of the crime became evident. Not a single officer in the flat was talking, not even exchanging pleasantries with their neighbor. Everyone was either working or standing around solemnly.

Although Sherlock was pleased with the silence, he had to admit it was vaguely disconcerting.

The body, a young, good-looking man, was located in the bedroom. He was on the bed, half of his clothes ripped off, the other half hanging on by threads. There were defensive scratches and marks on his hands, which were folded on his chest as if he were in prayer. The mortal wound, however, was obviously the wound in his stomach. The murderer had sunk the blade in right to the hilt, twisted, and removed the knife, leaving the victim to bleed out.

Sherlock furrowed his brow.

“No leads, you said?”

“None.”

“And no DNA left here?”

“We’ve combed the entire flat more than - what? Six times, now.”

“You’ve questioned all the relatives or friends? Girlfriend, boyfriend?”

“There’s no one left to question,” Lestrade replied. “He was a well-liked member of the community. No problems with family, no problems with his neighbours. His girlfriend was sure he was going to propose soon.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and moved closer to the body. He lifted the hands gently, examining the fingertips. He found nothing, and looked solemnly into the man’s face. Two deep cuts on his cheeks gave the impression that he was crying tears of blood. Sherlock swallowed.

“It’s a serial killing.”

Lestrade blanched. “Are you sure?”

The detective nodded. “You haven’t found anyone else like this?”

“No, this is the only one.”

Sherlock’s eyes darted around the room before finally landing on John’s.

The doctor crossed his arms over his chest and said, “There’s going to be more.”

“Yes. Quickly, tell me everything you can about this victim.”

“Uh, his name is Spencer Morrigan, he’s twenty-eight, and he lives with his girlfriend Diana Lovatt,” Lestrade rattled off. “He works at a publishing firm in the city. His parents are happily married, he’s got two younger sisters who evidently love him half to death, and he was working his way up to a promotion.”

“Young man, caucasian, blond hair, blue eyes, successful. The next one will most likely match this description.”

“Next one?” Lestrade demanded. “What do you mean, _next one_?”

“We have to wait for them to make a mistake,” Sherlock replied. “When they mess up - that’s when it’s easiest to catch them.”

“So, you have nothing.” Lestrade frowned, crossing his arms across his chest.

“Not at all. The killer is most likely someone with regular access to the building, perhaps even with a key to this flat. There’s no sign of forced entry, and nothing was stolen. He’s withdrawn, antisocial, possibly even a psychopath.”

“Sherlock?” John interjected. “What about his hands?”

“What abou- oh. _Oh_. He felt guilty… _Brilliant_ , John.”

“Guilty?” Lestrade questioned. “And that means?”  
“He feels guilty, right after he kills. He’ll take their hands and place them on their chests. Like they’re praying. He’s remorseful…”

“So, we’re looking for a lonely psychopath who feels guilty about killing people.”

“More or less.”

Lestrade shook his head. “All right, Sherlock. You’ll need to come to the station to fill-”

Sherlock’s mobile phone rang, and he rolled his eyes as he took it out of his pocket. He was about to decline the call when he caught sight of the caller ID.

_Edgewood Institute_

“-out some paper-”

Sherlock held up his hand, effectively silencing Lestrade.

“Sherlock Holmes,” he told the mobile phone.

“ _Ah, good afternoon, Mr. Holmes. I hope this isn’t a bad time._ ”

“It is, Mr. Arkman.” Sherlock shooed away Lestrade’s attempt to regain his attention. “Quickly, please.”

“ _Um, it seems that Julia’s been in a fight-_ ”

“ _My_ daughter? Are you sure?”

“ _Quite sure, Mr. Holmes. Are you available to pick her up from school?_ ”

Sherlock rubbed his temple. “Yes, yes. I’ll be there in… twenty minutes.”

John tilted his head, giving Sherlock a questioning look. The detective jerked his head towards the door, already striding out of the room. On his way out the door, Sherlock plucked a handful of photographs from a bulletin board in the hallway.

“ _All right, Mr. Holmes. Many thanks._ ”

“Mr. Arkman, could you put my daughter on the phone, please?” Sherlock paused next to Sally Donovan and the hysterical woman out in the hallway. The woman saw him and pointed an accusatory finger.

“Why won’t they let me see him?” she demanded. “I want to see him! I want to see Spencer. Why won’t they let me see Spencer?”

Sherlock took the phone away from his ear and handed the photographs to the woman. In them, she and the man on the bed were smiling, laughing at something off-camera.

“Because they want you to remember him like this,” Sherlock explained. “I think you want to, too.”

The woman - Diana - took one look at the pictures and threw her arms around Sherlock. He patted her back awkwardly, slipping gracefully out of her grip.

He brought the phone back to his ear.

“ _-ad? Sherlock, are you even there?_ ”

“Are you hurt?”

“ _What?_ ”

“I despise repetition, Julia. Are. You. Hurt?”

“ _I’m fine._ ”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“ _My cheek kind of stings. My wrist hurts, too. It’s sort of swelling and turning blue. They gave me some ice for it, though._ ”

Sherlock sighed. “I’ll be there in about twenty minutes. You won’t bleed to death in that time, will you?”

“ _I doubt it. Thanks, Dad._ ”

“I’ll see you soon.”

“What was that about?” John asked as soon as Sherlock hung up the phone. “That crime scene was at least an eight.”

“Julia’s gotten herself into some trouble.”

~*~

“We’re gonna be late,” Amelia complained. “Why are you taking so long?”

“I had to talk to Madame Richmond about the vocab for French. Gimme a second. And no one cares if you’re late to lunch.”

“Will and Kieran are rubbing off on you. You’re thinking like they are.”

Julia frowned. “No one’s gonna care if we’re a minute and a half late to lunch.”

“Just hurry up, all right?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Julia slammed her locker shut. “Let’s go.”

They were almost to the cafeteria when Julia froze. She tilted her head, trying to locate the sound that she’d heard.

“Julia? We’re really going to be late.”

“Yeah, sorry.” Julia was trailing behind when she heard the voices again. “On second thought, Amelia, can you take my books to the cafeteria and tell Kieran and Will to meet me by the storage room? Thanks so much.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I just… I just need to take a walk. I’m not feeling so well. You know?”

Amelia smiled. “Oh, I get that. Okay, just be careful.”

“I will. Thanks, Amelia.” Julia turned and started walking casually towards the voices. She wondered how Amelia didn’t hear them, too.

“You probably ogle all the other girls in the locker room,” one voice accused.

“I’m a lesbian, not a pervert,” defended another.

“Same thing,” a third voice laughed.

Julia frowned and started jogging towards the voices. She had been right; they were coming from in front of the old storage room. Three girls were there, all surrounding a fourth. They were laughing at her, kicking and scratching when they could. Julia set her jaw and ran.

“I don’t do anything wrong!” cried the victim.

“You _are_ wrong.”

“You don’t belong here. You _belong_ in a hospital. You’re sick.”

“I’m not sick. I’m just different from you nasty homophobic bitches.”

“We’re just trying to help you.”

The girls heard Julia’s footsteps and turned around. Julia felt rage bubble in her chest when she recognized them all. A girl with dark brown hair and lots of freckles, a short girl with a dark blonde ponytail, and another brunette with dull hazel eyes stared back at her.

“Charlotte,” she said coldly, “what are you doing?”

“We’re just trying to help,” the freckled girl replied.

Julia laughed. “It doesn’t look like it.” She peeked around Charlotte at the girl cowering behind her. “Lena, are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Jules. Go to lunch. I can handle myself.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

Charlotte and her friends sneered at Julia.

“Why are you here, basketcase?” asked the blonde.

Julia’s eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”

“Like we haven’t all seen your arms during football practice,” she laughed. Her voice was high and grating. “There’s barely any arm there at all.”

“Your skin looks like Morse code, sweetie,” said the second brunette. Julia knew her name, and she would never forget it, as much as she hated it.

“Mary’s right.”

Julia swallowed. She’d been wary of joining the football team in the first place. Lena had encouraged her greatly, and the girls’ practice coincided with the boys’, so Julia hadn’t seen the downside right away. Will could go to practice, and his mother didn’t have to worry about picking them up at different times. It was a convenient way to get into the school and work off some energy. Initially, Sherlock had been reluctant to let her join, but he quickly warmed to the idea after Julia assured him that Lena would be on the team as well.

The only downside to joining the team was that she had to spend more time with Charlotte and her friends, who constantly terrorized pretty much everyone, especially anyone who was immediately recognized as being different. This made Julia and Lena perfect targets.

That, and Julia hardly ever played, considering she was still rather out of shape.

She frowned at the girls in front of her: Charlotte, Mary, Georgia.

“Just leave her alone.”

“We’re trying to teach the pervert a lesson,” said Georgia, the blonde. “She’s sick. We just wanna help her get better.”

“She’s not sick,” Julia replied. “What the hell is wrong with you three? You can’t just hurt and degrade people until they fit your mold of normality. Don’t pretend to be saints about it. You’re insane!”

“Preach!” Lena croaked. Julia looked over Charlotte’s shoulder again, assessing Lena’s injuries. There was a bruise around her eye and blood trickling from her lip. Julia scowled at the sight.

“Look at what you’ve done already! How does that look like you’re helping her?” Julia demanded. She could feel herself growing angrier and angrier. “She’s hurt. That’s not helping anyone.”

“She can’t be helped,” Mary snarled. “She’s _wrong_.”

“You’re wrong!” Julia protested. “You’re all wrong. You can’t beat someone until they change. That’s not how things are done!”

“Yes, it is!” Charlotte countered earnestly, her eyes wide and wet. “This is how you help someone like her.”

“What do you mean, it’s how you-” Julia froze, the gears in her brain shifting and grinding. “You need to tell someone. If someone’s hurting you, you need to te-”

A sharp pain spread itself through Julia’s face. She blinked, her eyes coming back into focus. She was met by the sight of a rabid-looking Charlotte, her face red and her lips white from biting them. Her fists were clenched at her sides.

“What the hell was that?” Lena screeched. “What do you think you’re doing?!”

Julia brought her fingers up to her cheek and probed it gently. It came away red.

“You hit me,” she mumbled. “You actually…”

Lena scrambled to her feet.

“Lena, get out of here.”

Mary grabbed Lena’s arm and twisted it, throwing her back to the ground. Julia lunged forward. She shoved the blonde away from Lena and glared.

“You bitch!” cried Mary.

“Lena, I said _get out of here_. I can handle myself.”

The redhead finally gained some sense and took off down the hallway. She’d always been the quickest on the field, including the boys’ team.

“What did you say about me?” Charlotte questioned, scowling.

“Someone has to be hurting you,” Julia replied. “Why else would you-”

_Crack!_

Julia’s head snapped to the side. Her neck had cracked with the force of the blow. Even Mary and Georgia winced at the sound. They looked at each other and frowned, biting their lips nervously.

“-resort to violence like this?”

“You think someone’s hurting me?” Charlotte whispered.

“You don’t deserve it,” Julia said. “You don’t deserve it. You don’t de-”

“Shut up!” Charlotte put her hands on Julia’s shoulders and shoved. “You shut up!”

Julia twisted her body and landed heavily on her wrist. She cried out as she heard a sharp popping noise. Mary and Georgia spoke up, then.

“Charlotte,” said Mary quietly, “that’s enough.”

“Yeah,” Georgia agreed. “We should just go.”

Charlotte’s eyes flashed. “You think she’s right? Do you think I need to be hurt? You think I’m a pervert, too?” Her voice grew louder and louder with each word.

Mary and Georgia glanced at each other before bolting. Charlotte turned back to Julia.

“Why would they hurt _me_?”

“You’re good at hiding your bruises,” Julia replied. “You shouldn’t have to hide them at all.”

Charlotte growled and brought her foot back, ready to kick Julia in the ribs, hard. Julia yelped with each kick.

“Am I not good enough for you? You think I’m not _good enough_?”

_One, two, three-_

Julia caught Charlotte’s foot. The girl lost her balance and fell on her backside.

“What the hell is your pro-”

“You need to get help!”

“-think you’re better than I am? How _dare_ you?”

“I’m not any better than you are! I was like you.”

These words only seemed to add fuel to Charlotte’s anger. She crawled on top of Julia, wrapping the blonde’s tie around her hand. Julia tried in vain to push her off, panic creeping into her bones.

“You’re not like me. You’ll never be like me. You’re _not me_ ,” Charlotte repeated, tightening Julia’s tie around her neck. “Why do you think someone has to hurt me?”

Julia clawed at Charlotte’s hands. She shoved three fingers between her neck and the strip of fabric, desperate to get more air into her lungs. Pain blossomed in her wrist as it was jostled in the effort to stop Charlotte choking her.

“I don’t want anyone to hurt you.”

“ _Liar_.”

“Please, Charlotte,” Julia croaked. It was getting harder and harder to breathe.

“You don’t know anything. You don’t understand, you don’t _get it._ ”

“You’re hurting me. Please, Charlotte. You’re hurting me, please! Stop. Stop!”

There were footsteps in the hallway. Julia thanked every deity she’d ever heard of as the pounding feet drew closer.

“Hey!” a man’s voice called.

Julia continued to push at Charlotte until the other girl was pulled away from her. She coughed violently, her throat aching. Strong arms gripped her biceps and hauled her to her feet. The pain in her torso caused her to whimper quietly.

“Shit,” a second voice said. “Are you okay? Jules?”

“Took you long enough,” Julia muttered, swatting at the hands that held her.

“Sorry,” Will apologized. “Lena ran to get us. She caused quite the commotion. You should’ve seen it. You know, if you weren’t busy doing more important things.”

Julia tried to laugh but ended up hacking again.

“Woah, woah,” Kieran assured. “Calm down. Breathe.”

Julia nodded.

Mr. Harrbury, the chemistry teacher, was talking sternly to Charlotte. He glanced back at Julia, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Why’s Mr. Harrbury here?” Julia whispered.

“After Lena ran into the lunchroom, Noah and Oliver took her to the office. Oliver stayed with her there. Noah got the headmaster and the school nurse. Kieran ran to get the nearest teacher, who happened to be Mr. Harrbury. Now we’re here.”

“Oh. That’s nice. Can I sit down somewhere?”

“Oh, shit, yeah.”

“Mr. Lestrade, watch your language,” warned Mr. Harrbury.

“Apologies, sir. Can Kieran and I take Julia to the office? I think she should go home.”

“Go.”

“Oh my God,” Julia groaned. “They’re gonna call Sherlock. They’re gonna call my dad.”


	8. Miracle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is unhappy, and Julia is left wondering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is "Miracle" by The Temper Trap.

Sherlock strode into the school determinedly. He walked straight to the office, John trailing behind him.

“Mr. Arkman,” he greeted the man at the desk. “Where’s Julia?”

“She’s in Dr. Newberry’s office at the moment. If you would just wait a few mo-”

“Why is she speaking with him alone?” John questioned.

“Dr. Newberry thought it would be-”

“He thought wrong,” snapped Sherlock. The detective threw open the right door and stalked inside.

“Mr. Holmes!” exclaimed Dr. Newberry. “As nice as it is to see you again, I have to admit these are not the circumstances I’d expected.”

“Why are you speaking with my daughter alone?” Sherlock demanded. He looked down at the girl, whose gaze was fixed squarely on her hands. They were scratched and bruised.

“Well, I wanted to get the whole story before the parents showed up.”

John frowned. “She’ll just need to explain it again with us in the room, won’t she?”

“The thing is, kids tend to fib a bit when their parents are in the room. I find it’s better to ask them questions myself.”

“That’s ridiculous,” John put in.

“She’s more likely to be truthful with me than with you,” Sherlock said. “I am an adult she trusts. Why would she be more honest with you?”

“She should be able to trust me as well,” Dr. Newberry defended. “Julia?”

“I don’t know you very well,” Julia replied quietly. She glanced up. There was a cut on her cheek and a red ring around her neck. “All due respect.”

Dr. Newberry frowned. “Well, now that you’re here, Mr. Holmes and…” He trailed off, looking at John expectantly.

“Dr. Watson.”

“Now that you’re both here, we can talk about what happened earlier.”

Sherlock sat down on the couch next to Julia. John took one of the chairs in front of the headmaster’s desk. Julia moved closer to Sherlock, but winced at the effort. Sherlock set his jaw.

“John, could you check Julia’s wrist?” he asked. As John nodded, Sherlock turned to the headmaster. “Did you think to call an ambulance?”

“Pardon?”

“She’s in pain. Her wrist is sprained,” John said. “You haven’t thought that maybe she should be in hospital?”

“N-no.”

“Obviously not,” Sherlock replied scathingly. “You’re more concerned with interrogating her.”

“Sherlock,” John said. “Sit down.”

The detective was vaguely surprised to find himself standing, his fists clenched at his sides. He sat in one of the chairs in front of the headmaster’s desk, frowning.

“Julia, can you tell me what happened, please?”

“Amelia and I were walking to lunch, and I heard voices, so I told Amelia to get Will and Kieran. Some girls were cornering Lena-”

“Who?” Sherlock questioned. “The girls. Who were they?”

“Mary, Georgia, and Charlotte. They had Lena cornered, and they were hurting her, so I pushed Mary away from h-”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Dr. Newberry scolded.

Sherlock glared at him pointedly. The other man turned red and shut his mouth.

“They were hurting her. What was I supposed to do?”

“Why were they hurting her?” asked the headmaster.

“It’s not my place to say.”

“You need to tell me so I know you’re telling the truth.”

“It’s not my place to say,” Julia repeated.

“Why would she lie?” John demanded. Julia jumped and looked at him with wide eyes. Sherlock inclined his head in agreement.

“Dr. Watson, I need to know she’s telling me the truth. There is such thing as lying by omission.”

“It’s not important; it’s stupid. I’m not going to tell you.”

Dr. Newberry frowned.

“What happened next?” Sherlock asked.

“I pushed Mary away, and Lena ran off. Then Charlotte hit me. She hit me again, and then she pushed me. That’s how I-” Julia held up her wrist. “Then she started- started kicking me in… in the ribs. I caught her foot, and she fell. She crawled on top of me and started choking me. Then Will, Mr. Harrbury, and Kieran showed up. They got her off me.”

Sherlock clenched his jaw. He didn’t trust himself to speak.

Apparently, Dr. Newberry had the same idea. The man’s face was ashen, and his lips were pursed together.

“We’ll have to check your ribs and neck when we get home, then,” John said, breaking the heavy silence of the room. “Is that all right?”

Julia nodded.

“Did you fight back?” Sherlock asked abruptly. “Did you try to defend yourself?” He didn’t know why he asked, exactly. He just wanted to know. He needed to know.

“When she was on top of me, I tried to push her off. But… nothing else.”

“So it’s safe to assume you sustained the worse injuries.”

“Yeah, I’d think so.”

Sherlock looked to Dr. Newberry. “And what are you going to do about this?”

“The girls will all be punished accordingly. Julia and Ch-”

“Julia’s going to be punished?”

“Yes, Mr. Holmes. She was fighting as well. As much as I hate to do this, Julia is suspe-”

“That’s unacceptable,” the detective interrupted. He felt white-hot with fury, desperate not to show it. “She wasn’t _fighting_. She was attacked. She defended herself.”

“Julia is suspended for three days. Charlotte, for two weeks. Mary and Georgia have been dealt with as well. Mr. Holmes, this is not something I like to see in my school.” Dr. Newberry started rifling through some papers on his desk. “Please ensure that Julia doesn’t do this again.”

“No.”

The headmaster paused, looking up at him quizzically.

“Pardon?”

“If you think I’m going to punish my daughter for defending herself and her friends, you’re sorely mistaken. Good day, Dr. Newberry.” Sherlock stood. “John, Julia.”

“Mr. Holmes,” the headmaster called. “Before you leave, er, whenever something like this happens, we suggest visiting a therapist. Here’s a list of people we think would help. Sorting out issues with aggression, and all that.”

Sherlock scowled but snatched the list anyway. He wanted to burn it as soon as they got home. He strode out the door, John and Julia trailing behind him.

“Julia!”

They all turned around. Sherlock took note of the grin on Julia’s face as the redhead girl approached her, throwing her arms around her shoulders.

“Oh my God, what did she _do_ to you?”

“I’m fine, Lena. Believe me.”

“I could’ve handled that myself, you idiot!” Lena scolded, pulling back. “You shouldn’t’ve gotten into it. None of this had to happen.”

“Lena, you could barely stand. It was three against one.”

“Don’t be a hero, next time, okay?” Lena said quietly. She smiled.

“No promises,” Julia replied. “Are you okay? Is your mum coming to pick you up?”

“No, she’s at work. My sister will be here soon.” Lena’s face darkened, and she whispered something to Julia, too softly for Sherlock to make out.

Julia frowned. “Are you gonna be all right?”

Lena nodded. “Oh, yeah. They wouldn’t…”

It was Julia’s turn to nod.

Sherlock couldn’t help but frown. As the girls said goodbye, he wiped the expression off his face. He held out his elbow as Julia approached him, smirking slightly. The girl took it gingerly, and they walked outside. Sherlock hailed a cab, and in no time, they were on their way to 221B.

“I didn’t pull you away from anything important, did I?” Julia asked, her voice quiet.

“Crime scene,” replied John.

Sherlock nodded. “Most likely a serial killer.”

“Really? Will you tell me about it when we’re home?”

“I don’t see why not,” Sherlock replied. “After John checks your ribs, that is.”

“Right.” Julia sounded uneasy.

John seemed to pick up on it, too. “If you’d like, we can go to a clin-.”

“No!” she shouted. She chewed on the inside of her cheek before saying, “I mean. No. I’d rather you do it.”

John nodded slowly. “All right. Good.”

Sherlock frowned. Julia was hiding something, and he was about to find out what it was.

“It was because she’s gay, wasn’t it?” he asked, desperate to change the conversation.

“Yeah,” Julia replied. “It wasn’t my place to tell Dr. Newberry.”

“You did the right thing.”

Julia looked at Sherlock in surprise. “What? You’re not angry with me?”

“Of course not. I’m immensely proud.”

Julia frowned as if she hadn’t been expecting that answer. She looked at John for confirmation. The doctor nodded in agreement.

“You didn’t have to help her,” he said.

“Yes, I did,” Julia replied, scowling. “No one else was gonna help.”

Sherlock was almost glowing with pride, but he took care to hide it. The cab rolled to a stop. The three of them climbed out, and, after Sherlock paid, entered the flat.

Julia sat on the kitchen table. John dug through the cabinets, looking for the first-aid kit that Sherlock had stashed there years ago. Sherlock nearly grinned at the fact that John remembered.

“Do you want something to cover your shoulders?” John asked.

“Excuse me?” Julia’s eyes were wide.

“You’ll have to take off your shirt.” John cleared his throat and glanced nervously at Sherlock.  “If you don’t mind.”

Julia nodded. “Yeah, that’s… fine. I’m fine.” She started pulling her shirt out of her skirt.

“Can you do that with your wrist the way it is?” John asked.

“Yeah,” said Julia, unbuttoning her shirt. “I’m fine.”

“The suspension is probably a blessing in disguise.”

“What do you mean?” Sherlock asked, sitting at the table.

“She’ll need time to heal,” John said. “She can’t use her wrist for a few days. God only knows what her ribs look like.”

Sherlock nodded. Julia handed him her dress shirt and sat shivering in her skirt and tank top. She peeled the white fabric up, revealing half of her torso. Her arms were dotted with circular scars and lashes. As much as the sight pained Sherlock, he was relieved to find that there were no new additions.

The left side of her ribcage was black and blue. The detective clenched his jaw when he saw it. John sat directly in front of Julia after washing his hands.

“This might hurt a bit,” the doctor said. He gently prodded at Julia’s ribcage, taking careful note of when she winced and hissed in pain. “How many times did she kick you?”

“I lost count.”

Sherlock frowned, tapping his fingers on the table. John shot him a curious glance.

“Sherlock, why don’t you make some tea?”

“Tea? Yes, tea. Excellent idea, John.”

The detective stood and put the kettle on to boil. He took out three teacups and filled each with the right amount of sugar. As he turned around, the sight he was met with stopped his heart cold.

On Julia’s back, composed entirely of cigarette burns, was a lopsided smiley face.

Sherlock wasn’t angry. Angry didn’t begin to describe the fire burning in Sherlock’s chest. It coursed through his veins, consumed his heart, licked its way up to his mind. Sherlock clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. He couldn’t let Julia see him angry. He wouldn’t let her see that side of him. Sherlock was, in a word, intense. His bad side was no different. If he let his anger take over, he would end up regretting it.

He needed to be away.

Sherlock slammed the door on his way out of the flat.

~*~

“What the hell?” John questioned softly. “I- I don’t know what’s gotten into him this time.”

Julia kept her eyes fixed on her lap. She swallowed hard, her throat burning.

“It’s fine,” she croaked. The kettle whistled. “I’ll get it.”

She pulled her shirt down and hopped off the table. She froze when John put his hand on her arm.

“Sit down,” he said. “I’ll get the tea.”

Julia did as he said, picking at her cuticles the whole time. She chewed her lip anxiously, waiting for the ball to drop. The flat was silent except for the sound of John preparing their tea.

He carefully handed her a mug and sat down across from her again.

“I’m guessing it’s about what’s on your back.”

The tea in Julia’s throat threatened to make a reappearance on her lap.

“What?” she gasped.

“The face on your back. It sort of matches the one on the wallpaper.”

Julia was quiet for a long time. She chewed on her lips between sips of tea. Sometimes, she would dart her eyes around the kitchen, taking note of the experiments Sherlock had started but never finished. John’s eyes burned holes into Julia’s arms. She rubbed them self-consciously, unable to remember the last time John had seen her without sleeves.

John cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t stare. And it was inconsiderate of me. Saying what I said.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not.”

Julia glanced up at him, her brown eyes locking onto blue.

“You’re not… put off by them?”

John smiled faintly. “I have my own scars, you know. Of course, mine are a little different.” He started unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it away from his neck. A starburst of raised skin peeked out of the collar. “There’s the one that sent me home. I have a few from messing around as a kid.”

“Messing around?”

“Fell out of a tree, once. I was trying to get my neighbour’s cat down.” John chuckled at the memory. “It might’ve jumped out on its own, actually.”

Julia smiled. “You were okay, right?”

“Oh, yeah. Broke my arm in two different places, though. It got snagged on the way down, too. Cut from my wrist to my elbow. It’s almost completely faded, now.”

“Mine aren’t as exciting.”

“It’s all about how you interpret things,” John replied. “I didn’t see falling out of a tree as particularly funny until a good two years after the fact.”

Julia doubted she would ever find her scars ‘funny,’ but she understood what John was trying to say. She knew what he meant.

She gave a watery smile, pointed to the oldest burn on her forearm, and said, “This first one is because I went outside. I just wanted to feel the grass again. I- I waited half an hour after he left. I was careful. But he came back. And he said that if he was late for the job, I would pay. So. He gave me this.”

Julia took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

John nodded as if he understood. “And, um, when was this?”

“I was eleven. I’m hoping they’ll fade a little more. But, you know.”

“I do.”

Julia pursed her lips. “Is Sherlock going to be okay?”

“He’ll be fine,” John assured. “I’ll let you in on a secret. All right?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“And don’t tell him I told you this, or he’ll start sulking like there’s no tomorrow.”

Julia chuckled. “Yeah, okay, okay.”

“He cares about you. A lot.”

“That’s not a very good secret,” Julia replied. “I already know that.”

“All right, then. How about this: If Moran wasn’t already dead, I’m absolutely sure Sherlock would be on his way to kill him right now.”

Julia swallowed. “If- if I’m being honest with you… I don’t really know what to do with this information.”

John laughed softly. “There’s not much to do with it. I’ll grant you that.”

“Should we go find him?” Julia asked after a few moments.

“He’ll come back eventually.”

Julia nodded. “Okay. You’ll stay here ‘til he does?”

“Yeah, o’course. Actually, Sherlock asked me to move back in this morning.”

A grin spread itself across Julia’s face. “Really? That’s fantastic! When are you gonna move in? I’ll help you move your stuff. I’m sure Sherlock will, too.”

John smiled. “You won’t be doing much of anything until your wrist is healed. You’re lucky your ribs are most likely just bruised. Your wrist, though, is definitely sprained. Try and bend it backwards for me, all right?”

Julia hissed in pain as she bent her wrist. John took her hand and felt around the wrist gently. She flinched almost every time his fingers brushed her sensitive skin.

“I’ll wrap it in a bandage, I think. Don’t use it for too much for at least two days. We’ll put some ice on it so it stops swelling. Do you want some painkillers?”

“Sure.”

John left her alone at the table for a few minutes. Julia couldn’t help but wonder where Sherlock had gotten off to this time. She slipped her phone out of her pocket and dialled his number. He didn’t answer.

But it hadn’t rung long enough for Sherlock to have missed it by accident. He hadn’t simply been away from his phone. It had rung for approximately four seconds before cutting off. Sherlock knew Julia was calling, and he deliberately wasn’t answering.

She called him again, and she didn’t get an answer.

_(1:27pm) Just because you prefer to text doesn’t mean you can ignore my calls._

Julia shut off her phone and placed it on the table as John emerged from the bathroom. She looked to him and scowled. He ignored her obvious displeasure and started to wrap her wrist and hand in gauze.

“He won’t answer my calls,” she said. “Are you sure he’s okay?”

“I find it hard to believe this is the first sulk he’s had since you moved in with him.”

“It’s not,” Julia replied. “This isn’t a sulk. Sulks are when he’s bored, offended, or doesn’t want to deal with his emotions. I doubt he’s offended by the smiley face on my back.”

“He’s angry,” John replied. “I’m not sure if you caught the look on his face. He was absolutely furious. He’s probably trying to walk it off. He might not want to startle you.”  
Julia frowned. “I’m not that fragile. I can handle Sherlock being a little upset.”

“This isn’t ‘a little upset,’” John explained. “He’s murderous. I’m not saying he’d ever do anything besides snap at you, but…”

“I know.”

“Can I ask you something?”

Julia narrowed her eyes suspiciously but nodded anyway.

“When people hurt others like that-” John hesitated, as if he were choosing his words carefully. “When people inflict damage like that, they’re usually provoked. You didn’t, uh, encourage Charlotte in any way, did you?”

“Well,” Julia replied, “I offered to help her. I think someone’s hurting her.” At the look on John’s face, she said, “Hear me out, here! Don’t just tell me off. I told her that she couldn’t just beat normality into people. I said that wasn’t how things are done.”

“That’s true.”

“She told me I was wrong,” Julia explained. “When I asked her to get help, she kept asking me why I thought someone was hurting her, why she wasn’t good enough.”

John frowned. “We’ll talk to Sherlock. I think it might be a good idea to see and talk to her and her family before we jump to conclusions, all right?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

“How would you feel about dinner?”

Julia bit her lip. On one hand, Charlotte was the girl who terrorized everyone, especially Lena. She was the girl who talked about you behind your back but acted like your best friend as soon as she needed the answers to the French homework she missed. On the other, someone could be hurting her like Moran had hurt Julia, and Julia refused to stand by and let something that terrible happen to someone else.

“Dinner’s fine. We could clean up in here, and it would be fine. Do you think?”

“I think that could work,” John replied.

Julia nodded. She hopped off the table and sat instead on the sofa. After looking at John for permission, she turned on the television and started flipping through channels.

John came in the room and sat in his armchair. He sipped his tea, silent until Julia skipped over a certain program she’d never had much interest in.

“Looks like _Doctor Who_ ’s on,” John said.

“Yeah. Did you wanna watch it?”

“ _The Empty Child_. I like this one.”

“I’ve never seen it.”

“You’ve-” John looked at her suspiciously. “You mean this episode or any episode?”

Julia raised an eyebrow. “Any episode. Do you really think my mother would’ve let me watch it? She didn’t even let me read _Harry Potter_.”

“All right, no. No, stop this now,” John ordered, pointing to the television. Julia clicked the pause button and looked at John curiously. “If we’re going to watch _Doctor Who_ ,” he said, “we’re going to watch it right. From the beginning.”

“Aren’t there like fifty years worth of episodes?”

“Fifty-two.”

Julia stared at him blankly. “We’re gonna watch fifty-two years of a television series in how long?”

“How long is your suspension?”

“Three days. But I doubt the headmaster intended for us to binge-watch the entirety of _Doctor Who_ when he decided to suspend me.”

“We can get through the First Doctor in three days. Unless you want to start with the Ninth Doctor. If we start now, we’ll be able to get through his episodes by tomorrow. The second series is more recent. You might like it better.”

Julia shrugged. “Let’s start with the ninth, I guess. Then we’ll go back and watch the others.”

“Sounds good. I’m sure we can find the first episode somewhere.”

Three hours later, Julia was curled up on the couch with a blanket and her second glass of tea, her gaze fixed on the television. The only reason either of them had gotten to their feet was to replace Julia’s ice and refill their tea, which John was doing now. So, when someone knocked on the door, Julia was less than enthusiastic.

“Who is it?” she called, not wanting to get up.

“Are you really got going to get the door?” John asked from the kitchen, but Julia ignored him.

“It’s Will,” came the answer. “Mrs. Hudson let me up.”

“The door shouldn’t be locked,” Julia replied.

The doorknob turned, and Will walked into their flat. He carried a stack of books and papers that weren’t his.

“I brought your homework over,” he said. “Kieran gave it to me. Good thing Amelia knows your locker combination. We were totally lost.”

Julia smiled. “Thanks. Can you put it on the desk over there?”

“Yeah, sure,” replied Will. Apparently, he heard John puttering around in the kitchen, because he called out, “Hey, Mr. Holmes. Sorry to bother you, but I was-”

John raised his eyebrow, standing in the doorway with two cups of tea in his hands.

“Oh. Sorry, I-” Will looked from Julia to John a few times before grinning stupidly. “And you’re Dr. Watson, right? Sorry for the mistake.”

“No worries. You must be Lestrade’s son.”

“Yessir.”

“Well, it’s nice to finally meet you in person,” John said. He gave one of the cups to Julia and held out his hand. “You’re the first of Julia’s friends I’ve met.”

Will shook it gingerly, and Julia had to fight not to laugh. She could only imagine John’s soldier grip on the teen’s hand.

“Likewise, Dr. Watson.” He turned to Julia. “Hey, I gotta go. My mum’s waiting for me downstairs. Don’t do anything stupid, all right?”

“Like what?”

“Like get in another fight.”

“Who am I gonna fight with? John?”

Will laughed. “No. You could probably take your dad, though.”

“No, he knows Krav Maga or some other extremely violent, damaging street-fighting style. I’m not gonna go up against that.”

“How do you know that?” John interjected.

Julia raised an eyebrow. “I lived with him for nearly five months before Mary died. It’s not like I didn’t talk to him.”

“All right, I’ll see you later, Jules.”

“Later, Billy.”

“Not my name!” he called, already bounding down the stairs.

Julia turned her attention back to the television, but John had other ideas.

“He seems like a good kid.”

“Yeah.”

“He got you the necklace, right?”

Julia fingered the silver chain around her neck. “...Yeah. Why?”

John grinned. “He likes you.”

“Of course he likes me. He’s my best friend.”

“That quickly?” asked John, his eyebrows raised.

“I’ve known him and his sister since… December. Almost-” Julia counted on her fingers. “five months. Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” John replied, smirking.

Julia scowled. “I know what you’re doing. I don’t like Will that way. We’re friends.”

“Yeah, Sherlock was my friend too.”

“Don’t let him hear you talk like that. He doesn’t want me dating anytime soon.”

“ _He_ doesn’t want you dating. Doesn’t mean you won’t.”

“If Sherlock doesn’t want me to do something, I won’t do it,” Julia protested. “He doesn’t ask much of me anyway. My only rules are that I can’t have drugs or boys in my room.”

John laughed, shaking his head, and unpaused the television. Almost immediately, Julia got lost in the story, her knees drawn up to her chest, chewing on her lip in anticipation. She knew why her mother never let her watch this: aliens, adventure, time-travelling. It never would’ve happened.

Not long after they started the fourth episode, the door opened, and Sherlock strode into the flat. He hung up his coat and flung himself onto the couch. John paused the television, and Julia glared at the detective.

“You could have _at least_ answered my text messages.”

Sherlock evidently had the sense of mind to look a little sheepish. “Next time, I will.”

“You’ve never done that before.”

“You’ve never told me about them,” Sherlock countered.

“I didn’t think you cared.”

“I don’t.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Sherlock ran his hand through his hair. He shrugged. “I’m angry with him, I suppose.”

“He’s dead.”

“I know that.”

Julia rolled her eyes and moved closer to Sherlock on the couch. “Will you tell me about the case?”

So Sherlock told her in great detail about the victim, the murder scene, and the weapon used. Every so often, John would say something simple, which launched Sherlock into a new, even more complex explanation. Julia hung on to their every word.

Julia didn’t notice when her eyelids started getting heavy. She didn’t see Sherlock’s face when he realized she’d fallen asleep, leaning on his shoulder. She didn’t see him smile softly to himself and one-handedly wrap the blanket tighter around her. She definitely didn’t see John grinning like a madman when he saw Sherlock drop a kiss on her forehead.

She just listened to Sherlock’s voice.

 


	9. Fight to Forget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock solves a different kind of case, and Julia has a different kind of memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is "Fight to Forget" by Red.

Sherlock frowned at the cookbook, marking up the directions with a red pen.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to do that,” Julia commented, pulling the orange juice out of the refrigerator.

“If I follow these ridiculous requirements, the chicken will end up dry and tasteless. Cooking is chemistry, Julia. I know what I’m doing.”

“If you’re sure,” Julia replied easily.

“I am. Now, go get dressed.”

The flat was almost silent as Julia made her way upstairs.

“Don’t poison the Goodes, Sherlock,” John called from where he was tidying up the sitting room. “We want to make a good impression.”

“If I wanted to poison the Goodes, no one would know about it. I would be able to do it with no problems. You know that, John. Also, I don’t see why we have to make the good impression. Granted, I’m not an expert on social situations-” At this, John laughed. “-but one would think the parents of the girl who beat my daughter to a pulp should be the ones trying to make a ‘good impression.’”

“Sherlock-”

“I only agreed to this because she wanted it.”

“I know.”

“She wants to help.”

“Yes.”

“That girl nearly broke her ribs, and she wants to have her over for dinner because she thinks someone is hurting her.”

“And?”

“And that means she’s a better person than I am,” Sherlock laughed bitterly. He felt John’s arms wrap around his middle and relaxed into John’s embrace, sighing. “I never wanted this to happen to her.”

“I know. But it did, and we have to deal with it now.”

“You don’t understand.” Sherlock turned around in John’s arms. “It was because she observed. She _deduced_ that someone was hurting the other girl.”

“This isn’t your fault.”

“Of course it’s not _my_ fault, John. She figured out my feelings for you within ten minutes of my mentioning your name.”

John was silent for a while, which gave Sherlock time to think, as if he wasn’t already thinking. This was what he’d been dreading. He’d considered it happening to Julia, being targeted, but never in much detail. The thought of someone wanting to hurt his daughter made his stomach turn, so he’d tried to avoid thinking of it altogether.

“It happened to you, didn’t it?”

“The only thing that gives me comfort is that she was defending someone else.”

“It’ll be over quickly, love. Just try to help them, okay? Pretend they’re clients.”

Sherlock let his forehead rest against John’s. They stood together for a few minutes, their eyes closed. When the doorbell rang, Sherlock dropped a gentle kiss on John’s lips. Julia bounded downstairs and into the kitchen just as they were pulling away from each other. She twisted her hands nervously as Sherlock made his way downstairs.

He opened the door to find a family of four standing outside - a man, a woman, and two teenagers, a boy and a girl. Sherlock plastered a fake smile on his face.

“Ah, hello. Good evening. Please, do come in,” he greeted. “My name is Sherlock Holmes; I’m Julia’s father. We’re in the flat just upstairs.”

“Isaac Rodney. Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” said the man, holding out his hand.

Sherlock shook it quickly. “Likewise.”

The woman introduced herself next, tucking a piece of brown hair behind her ear. “I’m Vanessa Goode. These are my children, Daniel and Charlotte. It’s so kind of you to have us over. I’m sure we’ll be able to work everything out.”

Sherlock looked at the teenagers, giving them each a cursory glance. The girl, Charlotte, looked just like her mother, with dark brown hair, hazel eyes, and freckled cheeks. She stood in the hallway like she owned the place. Vanessa’s son, however, was a different story. He had dark brown eyes and black hair. He was tall, but seemed to shrink in on himself. He didn’t look much older than the girl.

Sherlock took note of this and led them all upstairs.

John was in the kitchen fixing tea when they entered the flat. It barely looked like their flat anymore; the experiments were gone, all loose papers had been collected and organized, and every last book was put back on their bookshelf. Julia had insisted on dusting, and, after she was done, even Sherlock had to admit the place looked better. The dust, he could live without. His case files, which were normally strewn all over the place, were a different story.

John came out of the kitchen smiling, but Sherlock could tell he wasn’t too happy about having guests. When it came down to it, neither was Sherlock. They would just have to suffer together, then.

“This is my partner, Dr. John Watson, and my daughter Julia.”

Julia waved timidly.

“Very nice to meet you,” John greeted them all, shaking each hand in turn. “Dinner should be ready soon, right, Sherlock?”

The detective checked the time on his mobile. “Yes. Julia, why don’t you show Daniel and Charlotte your room?”

“You said I wasn’t allowed to have boys up there.”

“I meant alone.”

Julia hesitated. “It’s a mess up there.”

Sherlock frowned. “That makes no sense. You’re the one who wanted to dust the bookshelves yesterday. Why is your room untidy?”

“I didn’t know anyone would see it. Did you and John tidy up _your_ room?”

“We’re not hosting dinner in our room, are we?”

“Not in mine, either,” she muttered, walking past the other teens. “It’s just upstairs.”

The kettle whistled as the children made their way upstairs.

“That’ll be the tea. I’ll get it,” Sherlock announced, grateful for the excuse to leave their company.

As he was pouring the tea, Vanessa wandered into the kitchen. She smiled at him warmly. Sherlock looked over her shoulder to see Isaac turn to John, a confused look in his eye.

“I thought you would need some help with the tea,” Vanessa explained. “Considering there’s four of us, and you’ve only got two hands.”

“Yes, that’s very kind of you.”

“Ah, Mr. Holmes,” asked Vanessa shyly, “if you don’t mind me asking, where’s your restroom? I’ve just got to powder my nose, if you will.”

“Out that door and to the left.”

“Thank you.”

As Sherlock mixed the right amount of sugar into John’s tea, Isaac’s voice drifted in from the sitting room.

“...must admit, Dr. Watson… call you John? When I first… didn’t take you as… another man.”

Sherlock deflated. He’d long stopped thinking about John being judged for associating with him, but now that they were romantically involved, he couldn’t help but realize how harshly the doctor would be criticized.

“Listen closely… in love… mind, not his… most brilliant… drop-dead gorgeous… makes me… so what?”

He closed his eyes, running a hand through his curls.

“Are you all right?”

The detective turned to find Vanessa standing in the doorway. She smiled sadly, coming closer to him. Taking the sugar out of his hands, she started making her and her husband’s tea.

“Excuse me?”

“Are you all right? You look… unhappy.”

“I only have a headache. Just need a few painkillers. I’ll be fine, thank you.”

Vanessa nodded and made her way into the living room, where John and Isaac were sitting in tense silence. Sherlock took a deep breath and followed her. He leaned on the arm of John’s chair, handing him his cup of tea. He sipped his own thoughtfully.

“Thanks, love.”

Sherlock hummed in reply.

“How long have you two been… together?” Vanessa asked, smiling. Isaac forced a grin onto his own face.

“Just a few months, now,” John replied, grinning up at Sherlock.

Isaac frowned distastefully. “Just a few months, and you’re already living together? Quite fast, isn’t it?”

“John and I were flatmates for years. He is my closest friend, and now, my partner.”

John squeezed Sherlock’s hand, bringing it to his lips in order to drop a kiss onto his knuckles. Sherlock stroked his thumb against John’s.

“And what about you and Isaac?” John asked.

“Oh,” Vanessa replied, smiling, “just shy of seven years, now. Charlotte and Daniel’s father left us when they were young. Isaac’s been such a help to us.”

John smiled in return. “Speaking of, you have very lovely children. Charlotte looks just like you.”

Sherlock was suddenly extremely grateful to have John there. The detective knew that he wasn’t an expert on social situations such as this, and John had quickly become a great asset to Sherlock’s life dealing with the everyday idiot. Ever since that first case, having John by his side only proved to Sherlock that his life was greatly improved with the doctor in it.

“Thank you,” Vanessa replied, pulling Sherlock out of his thoughts. “They’re such good kids. Honestly, I’m shocked that Charlotte would do something like this. I’ve tried talking to her about it, but she won’t say a thing. I was hoping that we could resolve whatever this is.”

“I feel the same way,” assured Sherlock. “Normally, Julia is harmless. However, she told me that Charlotte was harassing one of her friends, and she felt the need to step in.”

“My Charlotte wouldn’t do that,” protested Vanessa.

“This is ridiculous,” Isaac said, his brows furrowing. “Charlotte has always been an angel. She wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Well, actually, Julia’s wrist was sprained, and her ribs are quite bruised,” John replied before Sherlock could open his mouth. Once again, Sherlock was grateful, as he was vaguely concerned about what would’ve come out if he had. At Isaac’s questioning glance, John added, “I am a doctor. I know what sprains look like.”

“Her neck is bruised, as well,” interjected Sherlock. “There’s a cut on her cheek that’s just starting to heal. Now, I don’t know if Charlotte sustained any injuries or what they are, but I do know my daughter’s.”

Vanessa gasped. “Oh, I’m so sorry. There won’t be any lasting damage, will there?”

“Her wrist should heal normally. It’s already improving. She’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure all those bruises are from Charlotte?”

“What are you implying?” Sherlock demanded, glaring at the man seated across from him.

“Isaac,” Vanessa scolded. She turned to John, ignoring the silent war going on between Sherlock and her husband. “My daughter hasn’t reported anything serious. Just a few sore muscles.”

“Nothing at all,” Isaac told Sherlock. “I only doubt my step-daughter’s involvement in this affair in the first place. It seems to be that your daughter is troubled enough on her own.”

“Mr. Rodney, we are here to discuss the altercation that occurred between my daughter and your step-daughter on Tuesday,” Sherlock replied curtly. “Leave my daughter’s mental well-being out of it.”

“Well, it’s no surprise that your daughter has personal issues, living in this kind of household.”

“Excuse me?” John spat.

“I mean no offense, John. I was only pointing out that any child growing up in this particular circumstance is bound to have problems at school and with others. It’s a fact. Children need a mother. Two fathers-”

“How long have you been beating Vanessa’s children, Mr. Rodney?” Sherlock interrupted, fury climbing its way through his veins, clouding his judgement.

Isaac’s face turned red. “How dare you suggest-”

“I’m not suggesting anything, Mr. Rodney. I’m simply asking you a question.”

“Sherlock, you have to be mistaken,” said Vanessa, doubt creeping into her voice. “Isaac wouldn’t lay a finger on my children.”

“Vanessa, do you know what I do for a living?” Sherlock asked, and she shook her head minutely. “I’m a consulting detective. I observe people, figure out their secrets, solve more than a few crimes. Tell me, John, isn’t child abuse a crime?”

“Sherlock, just get to the point, love.”

“Right. Mr. Rodney, when did it start? Was it after you were married or before?” Sherlock watched him for his reaction, glaring the whole time. “Ah, of course. Soon after, I assume.”

“You’ve no proof,” Isaac defended.

“I saw it in the way he stood away from you, as far as he could get; in the way he shrunk in on himself when you spoke, like he was waiting for a verbal blow. It was in the way he glanced at you before he followed my daughter upstairs, like he needed your _approval_ ,” Sherlock spat. “I saw it in the way his eyes widened when I introduced John as my partner, like he was afraid for _us_. May I tell you what I think is going on, Mr. Rodney?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You beat your step-son because he’s gay. You think you can beat homosexuality out of him. Is that right?” Sherlock asked. “I know this because Charlotte tried to do the same to one of my daughter’s friends.”

“Isaac,” Vanessa whispered, tears in her eyes, “what’ve you done to my baby boy?”

“I haven’t done a thing, Vanessa, please-”

The woman stood abruptly, clutching her purse to her chest. John got to his feet as well, gazing at Vanessa, concerned.

“You’re the one who suggested he go to that school, the- oh, God, the reformatory school. I thought I was helping him, I thought we were- Oh, God, my _baby_. What’ve you done to him? He’s done nothing to you; he never deserved this! Oh, my baby boy.”

“The little poofter was asking for it!” Isaac yelled.

Vanessa’s hand flew through the air, landing on Isaac’s cheek with a crack.

“How dare you?” she seethed. “How dare you touch _my_ children?” She turned to Sherlock, her eyes ablaze. “Call the police.”

“Detective Inspector Lestrade should be right downstairs,” Sherlock replied.

The next few things happened all at once. Isaac Rodney lunged for Vanessa, his hands outstretched. John saw this and tackled him, narrowly missing the coffee table. Sherlock held back Vanessa as John straddled Isaac’s chest. The door slammed open downstairs, and there was a crash on the stairs outside the flat.

Sherlock let go of Vanessa and ran to the hallway, opening the door to see Lestrade bounding up one set of stairs and Julia sitting at the foot of the other, scrambling to her feet with a grimace.

“Sherlock!” John called, apparently having a bit of trouble with Isaac Rodney.

After a cursory glance to make sure Julia was unharmed, Sherlock bolted back into the sitting room to see Lestrade yanking Isaac to his feet. He nodded at the inspector as he dragged him out of the flat, a string of profanities following him out.

~*~

Julia chewed her lip nervously as she led the other teenagers to her room. As soon as she opened the door, she started debating on what to put away first. There were stray socks on the floor, a pile of textbooks on her desk, and a small party of stuffed animals on her bed. She picked up the dirty laundry and threw it all in the hamper before starting to collect her animals.

They were all fairly small, the kind of toys you would buy at a drugstore. Sherlock had caught her eyeing them enviously once whilst they were buying more plastic gloves and at least sixteen different types of travel-sized shampoo. Julia had blushed, but Sherlock smirked, held up two fingers, and said nothing when she put a small brown dog and a bumblebee on the counter next to his shampoo. Ever since then, every time Sherlock had been particularly wrapped up in a case or let it take over, Julia would find the occasional stuffed animal perched on her desk as an apology.

Sherlock made sure it didn’t happen very often, and he never mentioned it, but Julia liked the animals anyway.

“What are you, eleven?” Charlotte scoffed, brushing aside a stuffed bee. “What’s with all the baby toys?”

“They’re just stuffed animals,” Daniel told her, frowning. “You have like twice this amount at home, and half of them have names.”

“Shut up,” the girl snapped.

Daniel shrugged, playing with the sleeves of his olive green button-down. He gazed thoughtfully at Julia’s bookshelf, nodding minutely to himself.

“Um, right,” Julia said, smiling warily at both of them. “You can sit wherever you’d like. I, uh, don’t really have much to do up here.”

Charlotte sat gingerly on the side of Julia’s bed, and Daniel claimed her desk chair. Julia moved aside some of the debris on her bed and took a seat at the head, wincing at the pain in her side as she did.

“You have good taste in music,” Daniel complimented, nodding at her posters. “Didn’t peg you as a Fall Out Boy fan. Nice.”

“Thanks. My friend Kieran gave me the poster. He loves them. You like them too?”

Daniel nodded. “I like their old stuff better though.”

“Oh. I think all of it’s pretty good.”

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Come on, loser, quit boring me with your emo music crap,” she said, not unkindly.

“Whatever, Charlie,” Daniel laughed. “At least I’m not swooning over that _Twilight_ guy.”

“Please. _Twilight_ ’s not even relevant anymore.”

Julia frowned. “What’s _Twilight_?”

Daniel scoffed. “Utter crap!”

“Shut up! I thought it was good,” Charlotte protested. “Thankfully, that’s not the case anymore.”

“No,” Julia said, looking between the siblings, “I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about. What’s _Twilight_?”

Normally, Kieran or Will would help Julia understand pop culture references that were new to her. They had even decided on having a Marvel marathon, since Julia couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen a superhero movie of any kind. Sometimes, she would feel almost overwhelmed with the information that she’d missed. There were so many books to read, telly shows to watch, and movies to see. It would take a while for Julia to catch up.

“This really bland girl moves from Phoenix to Seattle to live with her dad, and she meets Mr. Dreamy Vampire, and then they fall in love.”

“It’s Forks, not Seattle,” Charlotte muttered.

“Same difference,” replied Daniel. “So anyway, Bland Girl’s old friend Werewolf Brown-”

“Jacob Black.”

“-is, obviously, a werewolf. He’s in love with her too. The whole series is about this terrible love triangle, and it caused a bunch of pre-pubescent girls to nearly shit themselves every time Dreamy Vampire came onscreen, one of which is our dear Charlie.” Daniel paused, quirking an eyebrow. “How do you not know about that?”

“I’ve traveled a lot since I was ten. Always moving, never having free time. I missed quite a bit.”

“Traveling?” Daniel questioned. “Where’d you go?”

“Little towns, mostly. Sometimes there were big cities, and they were beautiful. So many people, though. It was always either too crowded or completely desolate,” Julia recalled. “We went to Germany a few times. France, Mexico, Argentina. Spent a _lot_ of time in the U.S. There are too many states to keep track of. Thailand is a personal favorite of mine.”

“You and your dad, you mean?” Charlotte asked.

“No. After my parents died, custody was granted to my Uncle Sebastian,” replied Julia, the lie flowing easily from her lips. “He was in a car accident and died last year. Then Sherlock adopted me.”

“And, uh, his partner?” Daniel asked quietly, his shoulders tense. “Dr. Watson, was it?”

“Yeah, they got together… about two months ago?” replied Julia. “They’re so sweet. You know, it took them the longest time to admit it to each other. It was obvious to everyone else, but they couldn’t get it through their thick skulls.”

Charlotte rolled her eyes, scowling.

“You okay?” Julia asked her, tilting her head, searching for the signs Sherlock had told her.

“Charlotte’s fine,” Daniel said icily. “She’s just touchy on the subject of sexuality.”

“It’s not my fault, Daniel.”

“It’s not my fault, either.”

“Please, I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

“You’re gonna have to face it eventually.”

“But not now.”

Daniel scoffed, letting his eyes roam around the room. Julia glanced between the siblings for a time, trying to decrypt what had just happened.

“Um,” she said uncertainly, “how old are you? I haven’t seen you around school.”

“Sixteen, like Charlie,” Daniel replied.

“We’re fraternal twins.”

The boy nodded. “I go to an all-boys’ school not far from here.”

“Why don’t you just go to Edgewood?” Julia questioned. “I mean, it’s not too bad there.”

Daniel laughed, then, but not happily. “No, no. Bardwell's not any better than Edgewood. It’s just famous for conditioning the gay out of boys like me.”

“I- oh.” Julia abandoned her thought, reconsidering her first hypothesis that it was Charlotte who was being harmed at home.

“It’s what?” Charlotte asked softly.

“Don’t you know what my classmates do to boys who like boys?”

“Dan, I didn’t think-”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Dan-”

“That’s fine,” Daniel snapped. “I only have to spend time with him on weekends.”

“So, Bardwell’s a boarding school? That’s interesting,” interjected Julia, desperate to change the conversation. Daniel and Charlotte both looked at her as if she had two heads. “I didn’t know there were any around here.”

“It’s great except for the staggering amount of homophobes. You know, big dorm rooms, nice bathrooms - my roommates are actually pretty okay. I think we have a football game against you guys next month.”

Julia nodded. “Are you on the team?”

“God, no,” Daniel laughed. “Contact sports aren’t really my thing. You’re on Charlie’s team, though, right?”

“Yeah.”

“You can’t play for shit, though,” Charlotte said.

Julia rolled her eyes. “I _know_. I’m working on my footwork, all right? Lena drills me nonstop. I actually want to play this season, you know.”

“Well, first game’s next month,” Charlotte reminded. “We’re against Highwater Secondary. Those girls are animals. _Vipers_ is accurate. They’re ruthless. Damn, Edgewood’s gonna get slaughtered.”

Julia frowned. “They are?”

“They’re vicious. Every game they play, there’s at least three red cards for their team. God, do they play dirty.”

“Do you guys know anyone on the boys’ team? Jake’s on ours,” explained Daniel. “They’re focusing on offense, but they’re all equally crap on defense. If your boys keep the ball on our side of the field, you’ve basically won the match. Bardwell Hornets are outta the running.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Julia replied. “I’ll tell Will.”

“Good. I can’t wait for their crushing defeat.”

“Go, Silver Devils,” Charlotte muttered, waving an imaginary flag. She paused and looked at Julia, her eyes narrowed. “Are you gonna be okay to play by then? I mean, I get that you’re working on drills and stuff, but… I busted you up pretty badly. Are you gonna be okay to play?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. My wrist is almost healed already. John’s a doctor, so he checks on it every now and then.”

“That’s… good.”

“Wait, what’d you do?” Daniel asked. “Mum wouldn’t tell me, and you know how Isaac is.”

Charlotte scowled. “It doesn’t concern you.”

“It got me dragged here against my will - no offense.”

“None taken…”

“I demand to know what happened,” Daniel said.

“There was an altercation. We… worked it out?” Julia asked, her voice lilting up at the end of the statement.

“Yeah. I, uh… I’m actually sorry about that.”

“Well, I kind of… goaded you.”

“You did! What the hell was that?”

“I was concerned about you,” Julia explained. “I had reason to believe someone was hurting you.”

“You _had_ reason? Not _have_?” Daniel asked, his dark eyebrows furrowed. His jaw was tense, and his brown eyes were fixed on Julia’s. “You don’t think that anymore?”

“I don’t think Charlotte’s being hurt, no.”

A voice drifted into the room from downstairs. “ _The little poofter was asking for it!_ ”

“Damn it all,” Daniel muttered. “Not gonna be an easy night, is it, Charlie?”

“I don’t think so,” she replied.

Julia frowned. “You guys can stay here. Sherlock won’t let you go home with him,” she assured. “He’s probably called the police already. Detective Inspector Lestrade and my dad are friends.”

“You sure?” Daniel asked. “Because we can manage on our own.”

“Please, don’t try,” Julia said. “You can stay here. You don’t have to go back to him.”

“We have to stay with our mum-”

“Dan, wait, did Mum hear him say that?” Charlotte interjected. “Shut up. I can hear- oh.”

“ _Oh, my baby boy._ ”

Daniel swallowed visibly, clenching his fists.

“Dan?” Charlotte whispered. She looked at him sorrowfully, and Julia felt exceedingly uncomfortable intruding on what was obviously a private conversation. “Dan, I’m sorry. I didn’t- I didn’t think about any of it. He-”

“It’s fine, Charlie, I get it.”

“It’s not fine, Dan! You- I let him- God, what I let him do…”

“Just shut up, okay?” the boy ordered. “It’s _not_ your fault. We can figure this out.”

Just then, a hollow thud rang throughout the flat. Julia turned towards the sound instinctively, jolting to her feet. She was flying down the stairs, and, before she knew it, she was sprawled at the bottom.

Julia was getting to her feet just as the door opened. Sherlock stood there, his eyes searching the hallway frantically. He opened his mouth to say something when-

“Sherlock!” called John.

The detective disappeared back into the flat, followed by Lestrade, who had at some point, Julia guessed, been called up to the flat. He nodded to her as he passed.

Julia turned to see Daniel and Charlotte standing behind her. They were holding hands, their fingers clenched so tight they looked white.

“Everything’s fine,” Julia said. “DI Lestrade is here.”

Charlotte nodded, but Daniel didn’t look convinced. He went white when Lestrade dragged Isaac out of the flat.

When he saw Daniel, Isaac went red.

“Fucking poofter, I know you set me up!” he bellowed, struggling against Lestrade’s handcuffs. “You good-for-nothing parasite, you’ve torn this family apart!”

“Shut your mouth,” Lestrade growled. “You know, you’re not exactly helping your case. Not that it would matter.”

“Rot in _hell_!”

“See you there,” Daniel muttered.

“Don’t,” Charlotte whispered to him.

Vanessa Goode came running out of 221B. She took one look at her children and was by their side in a second. Daniel huffed as his mother clutched him tightly to her chest.

“My baby,” she murmured, pulling away from him. Her warm eyes flicked between her children, and her arms wrapped around them both.  “I love you so much. You’re perfect the way you are, both of you. Perfect. Nothing you could do would ever disappoint me.” She dropped little kisses on her son’s forehead and cheeks.

Daniel blushed furiously. “I’m okay, Mum.”

“I’m so, so sorry, baby. I love you.”

“You didn’t- you didn’t know?” Charlotte choked out.

“God, no, baby. And I’m so sorry that I didn’t notice. I should have noticed.”

Julia sat on the edge of the staircase, trying not to interfere with their conversation.

“Ms. Goode,” John said, “DI Lestrade needs you and your children to go to Scotland Yard. You can take a cab if you’d prefer that to a police car, and Sherlock and I will be right behind you.”

Julia stood, straightening her shirt, watching the Goodes stalk down the stairs and out of the building. John looked at her, concerned.

“You’ll be okay?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t like the idea of leaving you at the flat by yourself,” John admitted. “But I suppose in this case it’s necessary.”

Julia scowled. “But I’m not staying here by myself. I’m coming with you.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am!” Julia exclaimed. “I’m coming with you.”

“Listen, Julia, you have to take the chicken out of the ov-”

“No.”

Panic crept into Julia’s stomach at the look on John’s face. She tried to keep it in check, knowing that John would never hurt her, but it was becoming increasingly difficult as John set his jaw and flexed his fingers.

“John?” she squeaked.

“Stay in the flat. Sherlock and I are going to Scotland Yard. We’ll be back before bed. Take the chicken out of the oven when it goes off. Do you understand me?”

“But- I don’t want to stay here by-”

“You’re staying here, and _that’s an order!_ ”

Julia staggered backwards, putting a hand on the wall to balance herself. Her stomach turned. The hallway was fading away quickly, replaced by an old, rickety room in an abandoned house in Germany. John stood before her smiling manically. His head jerked to the side, and he seemed to grow at least six inches.

Moran loomed over Julia, his dark eyes sparking with contempt. The smell of beer on his breath nearly knocked Julia off her feet.

There was a phantom hand on her bicep, gripping into her skin. Julia whimpered, her stomach threatening to empty itself on Moran’s shoes.

“You can’t, you can’t,” Julia whined. “You can’t.”

“Julia?” Moran’s eyes turned deep blue, and Julia knew them. She knew those eyes and- and that nose, but where-?

“You wanna have some fun?” Dark eyes. Dark, dark eyes.

“No,” whispered Julia. “Don’t, please. Don’t-”

Blue eyes. “Julia, it’s all right.”

“What? Jo-?”

“I’m gonna make you feel so good,” Moran replied, and Julia could feel fingers dragging lightly across her stomach. Tears slipped out of her eyes, dripping down her cheeks. Her throat tightened, and she couldn’t breathe. Oh, God, she couldn’t-

She looked past Moran’s shoulder, her brown eyes locking with blue.

“Sherlock!” she gasped, shrinking away from the man before her. “Sherlock, please!”

Any second now. Any second, Sherlock would pull out the knife and save her like he had before. He would kill Moran and take her back to Baker Street where she belonged, and-

“Julia? What’s wrong?” Sherlock questioned. “What do you see?”

“Sherlock,” she sobbed, gripping his coat in tight fists. “Sherlock, he’s here.”

“No,” the man replied. “He’s not here. He died long ago. You’re at Baker Street. You’re safe. He can’t hurt you anymore.” Sherlock gripped her shoulder. “Look at me. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

Julia nodded, letting her eyes roam around the hallway. The house in Germany slowly faded away, replaced by the familiar walls of their flat on Baker Street. She sighed, taking in the sight of John - _It was just John, what the hell is the matter with you?_ -standing over Sherlock, keeping his distance but close enough to know what was happening. Licking her lips, Julia released Sherlock’s coat.

“Sorry, I- I don’t know what happened, I… Oh, I’m going to-”

Julia scrambled to her feet and ran into the flat, desperate for the bathroom. She spent nearly fifteen minutes dry-heaving into the toilet whilst Sherlock steadily rubbed her back, completely silent.

When her stomach finally settled, Julia was just so tired. She sat back on her knees, leaning into Sherlock’s hand. He pulled away, and she found herself following. Sherlock wrapped his arms around her, tucking her hair behind her ears. That action alone caused Julia’s eyes to tear up again.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” she whispered.

“Don’t be.”

“I didn’t mean to-” Julia swallowed. “You and John have to go to the Yard.”

“John is on his way there. I can pop by tomorrow.”

Julia nodded. Closing her eyes, she tucked her head under Sherlock’s chin. The arms around her tightened almost imperceptibly. Almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you wondering, the full conversation between John and Isaac is here.
> 
>  
> 
> “I must admit, Dr. Watson - may I call you John? When I first saw you, John, I didn’t take you as the sort to be intimate with another man.”  
> “Listen closely, Mr. Rodney. I fell in love with Sherlock’s mind, not his body. Sherlock Holmes is the most brilliant man I’ve ever known, and, not to mention, absolutely drop-dead gorgeous. If that makes me bisexual, then so what?”


	10. Lost!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock says *the words,* and Julia has an appointment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is "Lost!" by Coldplay.

“He was going to hurt me,” Julia whispered into Sherlock’s chest.

“He wasn’t here.”

“No, I mean- when you came to kill him,” the girl explained. “He was going to hurt me. It was worse that time. You arrived just as he was about to…” Her breath hitched, and she closed her eyes.

“You don’t have to tell me.”

“Thank you.”

Sherlock hummed in acknowledgement. They sat in silence, Sherlock lost in his thoughts. Something had triggered Julia’s outburst, and he had to figure out what it was. If they avoided it in the future, this wouldn’t happen again. Julia wouldn’t feel so helpless again. He opened his mouth to speak when Julia cut him off.

“The oven’s gonna go off.”

“John shut it off before he left.”

“Oh.”

“Yes,” he said. He took a deep breath. “Julia. Do you know what happened?”

“I’m just going crazy,” she said. “Don’t mind me.”

“Having a flashback doesn’t make you insane.”

“I’m pretty sure it does.”

“Yes, but I know much more about psychology than you do, don’t I?” replied Sherlock. “Having a flashback doesn’t make you insane. All right? It just means that there’s something else in our life that we haven’t anticipated.”

“You anticipate everything,” Julia said dully.

“You manage to surprise me.” Sherlock squeezed her bicep. “Now, what reminded you of Moran?”

“John- John was getting annoyed with me because I didn’t want to stay at the flat while you two went to the Yard,” she said. “He got all tense and told me to go inside. _That’s an order_. That’s what he said. That’s what Moran said before he tried to ra-”

“He did _what?_ ” Sherlock growled, holding Julia away from him so he could look at her face. She cast her eyes downward, chewing on her lip nervously. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t think it mattered,” the girl said weakly. She suddenly looked up at Sherlock, her eyes widening. Tears gathered in her eyes. “He didn’t do anything. You showed up in time to stop him; he didn’t touch me. I didn’t want him to touch me, I didn’t want him to do anything, please, I-”

“Stop!”

Julia flinched, and Sherlock’s heart dropped. All the anger that had been coursing through him was replaced with concern at the sight of tears steadily dripping down his daughter’s face.

“Shh. Stop talking. I’m not angry,” he remedied, wiping tears from her cheeks. “You’re all right. Everything’s all right. I won’t let anyone hurt you again.”

“But-”

“You didn’t ask for it. It’s not your fault. Do you understand me? It’s not your fault.”

“Okay.”

Sherlock leaned back against the tiled wall of the bathroom, sighing. “Even if- even if he _had_ done that to you, it wouldn’t cause me to love you any less.”

There was silence.

“What did you say?”

The detective fixed his gaze on her. “I said it wouldn’t change anything-”

“No, I mean… exactly.”

“Even if he had done that to you, it wouldn’t make me love you any less…” Sherlock frowned. “I don’t hear anything wrong with that. It’s just a fact.”

“You love me?”

“Yes,” Sherlock affirmed. “You didn’t know?”

“No, no. I knew. It’s just that you’ve never said it before.”

“I will attempt to remedy that,” replied Sherlock. “Now, is there anything else you want to tell me?”

Julia was silent for a few moments. “No,” she finally said. “You know about the scars on my back. The ones on my arms, too. And Mary.”

“Yes.”

“Now you know… that.”

Sherlock nodded. “There isn’t anything else?”

“No.”

“Would it help if you could talk to someone who wasn’t me?”

“I don’t know. I like talking to you.”

“We don’t really do that enough, do we?”

“We’re okay,” Julia replied. “We talk about stuff all the time.”

Sherlock hummed in reply. He gripped Julia’s shoulder tighter, pulling her closer to him. He felt her sigh against his chest, and he relaxed his body, suddenly exhausted.

“We should really clean in here.”

“Yes,” Sherlock agreed.

John found them still huddled together around half an hour later. He stood in the doorway, looking at each of them in turn.

“Hello,” he said. “Uh, is she sleeping?”

“I believe so. Let me get her upstairs. I’ll be in the kitchen in a moment.”

“You need help?” John asked, eyeing Julia’s dead weight.

“No, I should be able to handle it if my arm isn’t numb.”

John frowned, wrinkles forming between his eyebrows. Sherlock smirked at the sight, and he longed to smooth out John’s face with a well-placed kiss.

The detective moved from underneath Julia and removed his suit jacket before stretching his arms. He put an arm under her knees and one behind her shoulders, lifting her from the tiled floor. For someone who had such trouble getting to bed, Julia was a surprisingly heavy sleeper. She didn’t stir at all except to wrap her arms around Sherlock’s middle. He balked at that, wondering if it was an automatic response of hers to cling to things. Perhaps that’s why she had so many plush animals on her bed.

“John, can you get the door?” Sherlock asked quietly, careful not to disturb the sleeping girl in his arms.

“Um, yeah. Yeah, ‘course.”

Sherlock carefully climbed the stairs to Julia’s room, holding her tightly to himself. The last thing he wanted was to drop her down the stairs. That painted all sorts of unpleasant pictures in Sherlock’s mind, many of them involving copious amounts of the color red.

He lay her down on her mattress gently, prying her hands from around his torso. Sherlock placed a small stuffed lion in her arms as a substitute, and she clung to it desperately. He pulled her blankets up to her shoulders and tucked a piece of blonde hair behind her ear.

As he turned to leave, he heard her speak up.

“I love you, too, Dad.”

Sherlock smiled and dropped a kiss on her hair. “Goodnight.”

The detective walked downstairs, still grinning to himself. John saw him and raised an eyebrow. He handed Sherlock a cup of tea and sat in his armchair. Sherlock loved to see John sitting there, where he belonged. Before John had moved back in - and before they finally got together - Sherlock used to pretend that when John sat in his chair, he was home again. He used to pretend that John still lived in Baker Street with him, when in reality, he was only visiting. It was bliss, now, having John with him.

Sherlock sat in his own chair, grinning faintly at the doctor across from him.

“Now, I’ve got to ask,” John said, smirking. “Why are you smiling all of a sudden?”

“It’s nothing, John.”

“Nothing?”

“No, nothing at all.” Sherlock cleared his throat, wiping the emotion from his face. “You can’t use your captain voice around Julia anymore. It reminds her of _Moran_.” Sherlock spit his name as if it were a curse.

“Sherlock, you have to know I didn’t mean-”

“Of course not, John. Don’t be an idiot. Obviously you didn’t mean her any harm.”

“Right. Yeah. So, um, Sherlock.”

“Yes?”

“I know you’re opposed to it, but… maybe therapy could be a good thing for her,” John suggested. “I know you don’t like it, but listen. It’ll give her someone to talk to who’s not us, it’s another safe environment for her, and a therapist is more qualified to deal with this than we are.”

“ _‘Deal with,’_ ” Sherlock repeated, frowning.

“You know what I meant, Sherlock. This could help her.”

“It didn’t help you.”

“It helped me enough.”

“Enough?” Sherlock scoffed. “John, really.”

“It kept me alive long enough to meet you, didn’t it?” John snapped. When Sherlock didn’t answer, he continued, “Listen. I was alone before I met you, all right? It was just me. After I moved in, _that’s_ when I started getting better. Because I had someone. She’s got you and me, friends at school, hell, even Molly texts her nonstop. She’s not alone.”

Sherlock frowned. “She's not going to like it.”

John sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I know.”

“I suppose it couldn't hurt," the detective admitted. "I don't think she'll respond well. She told me once that seeing a therapist would mean she was crazy. Just an hour ago she told me she thinks she's losing it. Taking her to see a therapist will only validate those feelings.”

“She’ll be okay, Sherlock.”

“I know she will. I’ll have Mycroft make an appointment.”

“You don’t want to do it yourself?”

“My brother will find the best person for the job,” Sherlock replied. “As much as I hate to rely on him for anything, I suppose I can make an exception when it comes to this subject.”

“All right. You talk to Mycroft, then. Do you want me to talk to Julia?”

“No,” Sherlock answered slowly. “No, I think I should do it. She’ll sleep for a while before coming down for dinner. It might be late by then.”

“What time is it?” John asked, laughing mirthlessly.

Sherlock checked his clock. “Half past eight,” he said. “It’s only half past eight.”

“It has been quite an eventful night,” John replied. “I’m knackered.”

“Yes,” the detective agreed. “You should go to bed. I’ll wait for Julia to wake up.”

John smiled faintly. “That might be a while, love. You sure?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Thank you, John.”

The doctor drained his tea and stood, bending over Sherlock’s chair to plant a quick kiss on his lips. When John made to pull away, Sherlock cupped the other man’s jaw in his hand and kept him there, their lips moving together sweetly. John hummed into the kiss and pulled away smiling.

“Goodnight, love. Come to bed when you’re ready. I expect to wake up with you, though. Make sure to get some sleep, okay?”

“Yes, John,” Sherlock answered, stroking his thumb across the doctor’s cheek. “Goodnight.”

~*~

Julia frowned for no less than the eighth time. She crossed her arms and rolled her eyes every time John or Sherlock tried to talk to her. John was getting irritated, but Julia wasn’t that concerned anymore. See? She was doing better.

They were in the waiting room of a youth counseling center in the middle of London. There weren’t many chairs or much space to begin with, but there was a kids’ play area at the back, and racks of magazines to flip through. The chairs they sat on were worn but actually pretty comfortable, and made of fading red fabric. It was warm in the room, but there was a water cooler with a few stacks of cups next to it. A coffee machine even took up space on the adjacent counter. John had asked Sherlock if he would’ve liked a cup, but the detective scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“I don't need to see a therapist,” Julia said, turning her attention back to Sherlock. “I'm fine."

"It'll help," John reminded.

"I don't need help," muttered Julia. "I'm not crazy."

"Actually, you do need help. You have problems you're having trouble dealing with; I'm not qualified enough to help you deal with them myself," Sherlock said. "Believe me. I've done research."

"I don't understand why you can't just learn how to help me, then. You can learn anything in days!"

"He can't learn how to be a therapist in a weekend," laughed John.

Sherlock tilted his head. "I think I could."

“You definitely could.”

“Not that I’m going to.”

Julia frowned for the ninth time that evening as a brunette woman opened a door on the other side of the room, leading a tall Asian girl out of the connecting room. She looked to be about Julia’s age - maybe a year or two older - and only had a couple of inches on her. Her dark hair fell in stray tresses around her face, most of it piled on top of her head. Her eyes were dark, the lids lined in black. The girl’s lips were thin, and her face was round, and she walked as if she didn’t know how to control such long legs.

Julia turned to John as he cleared his throat. She blushed and scowled.

"Shut up," she muttered, ignoring his smirk.

The woman said goodbye to the girl before walking over to Sherlock. He stood up, holding out his hand. The woman, who looked around fifty years old, ignored it, pulling him into a warm hug.

"Sherlock!" she cried. "Oh, it's so nice to see you doing well.”

“Thank you, Lauren,” he replied stiffly. “It’s good to see you as well.”

As the woman let go of him, Julia could get a closer look at her. She seemed to be in her late fifties, and wore her ash-brown hair down around her shoulders. Grey eyes sparkled behind squared-off glasses. The woman - Lauren - was just a few inches shorter than Sherlock, but she took up more space in the room. Her demeanor overpowered his. Julia hadn’t known that was even possible.

“It’s been so long since I’ve last seen you. Although, I’d think that was a good thing! Never thought I’d have you in my office again. What has it been, fifteen years now?”

“Seventeen.”

“And you’re doing well?”

“As well as to be expected,” he replied, smirking. “And you?”

“I’m fantastic, thank you. Well, why don’t you introduce me?”

“Ah, yes,” Sherlock said. He turned to John, who immediately stood and offered his hand. “This is Dr. Lauren Walker. She was my therapist during my time in rehab.”

“Dr. John Watson,” the blond man greeted, shaking Lauren’s hand firmly. “I’m Sherlock’s partner.” He looked down at Julia and raised an eyebrow.

She stood up and held out her hand. “I’m Julia.”

“We have a… delicate situation,” Sherlock said, smirking at Julia. She rolled her eyes but couldn’t completely hide the smile that crept across her features.

Lauren nodded. “Oh, I see. You can explain in my office. You and I will talk for a while, and I’ll see to Julia in about twenty minutes, I’d say. Now, does Dr. Watson want to be included? I can go either way.”

"I know the story," John said. "I'll wait out here with Julia for now. Feel free to bring me in whenever you like, though. And please, call me John."

"Sounds like a plan," the woman replied, smiling. “We’ll only be a bit.”

Julia frowned and crossed her arms as Sherlock followed Lauren into her office. She turned to John, puzzled.

“How does Sherlock know her?” she asked.

“They met when he was recovering,” John replied. “I suppose he needed therapy after getting out of whatever rehab Mycroft threw him in.”

“Oh. He told you?”

“Right after Mycroft sent the information over.”

“Oh.”

“You all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re still upset, though.”

“Yeah.”

John sighed. “You know we’re just trying to help.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“But you still don’t think you need it.”

“No.”

“Are you going to be like this the whole time?”

Julia uncrossed her arms. “No. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I get it. I hated therapy myself.”

“Then why are you making me go?” Julia asked, irritation creeping into her voice once again.

“Because it might help you. Talking to someone, that is.”

“I thought I could talk to you and Sherlock. Can’t I?”

John’s eyebrows pulled together. “Yeah, ’course. You can always talk to us.”

“Okay, then. Can we go home now?”

“Uh, no.”

“But we’ve just established that I can talk to you two.”

“Please, just do this for us. It would make Sherlock… He would really like you to do this.”

Julia bit the inside of her cheek. She let her eyes roam around the room, eyeing the few other people in the room, the multitude of empty chairs, the doors that lined the back wall. A few offices, Julia assumed, and the bathrooms. It wasn’t a terrible place to be, really. She could get used to being there every now and then. Lauren had seemed kind. She couldn’t be that bad. It might even be nice to talk with her.

Julia glanced at John. “All right.” She looked away quickly, blushing. “If it makes Sherlock happy.”

“It would.”

Julia nodded. “Okay. I wanted to ask you something without Sherlock hovering around. The past few days have been weird. He’s barely left me alone.”

“He’s trying not to storm out on you like he did when he saw your back,” John replied. “I’ve never seen him so angry as when he told me what-”

“He told you?” Julia snapped, her dark eyes finding John’s. “I didn’t- He-” She paused. She’d never told him not to tell John. And the doctor had a right to know… “I didn’t think he’d say anything.”

Julia stared at her hands, picking at the cuticles.

“It’s not your fault,” John started.

“I know it’s not my fault.”

John didn’t reply for a few minutes. Chewing her lip nervously, Julia tried to figure out how to continue their conversation.

“He was… angry, you said?”

“Absolutely furious. He was ready to- Jesus, I don’t even know. I’ve never seen him like that. If Moran wasn’t already dead… well, you know.”

“Yeah,” she replied softly. “I know.”

“Is there anything else you’d like to tell us?” John asked, keeping his gaze away from Julia. She was grateful that she wasn’t under his scrutiny. Not that John could deduce her like Sherlock could, but still.

“No. I can’t think of anything.”

“And… your father.”

Julia froze. It had been a while since she’d thought of her father. She couldn’t even remember the last time anyone had mentioned him. It seemed odd, calling him that name. Sherlock was her father now. But that didn’t mean he replaced her _biological_ father. He would always hold a place in Julia’s heart. Was that bad?

“I take it you don’t mean Sherlock,” she said.

“You know very well that I don’t,” John replied, smirking. “You don’t ever mention him.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Is there a reason for that?”

Julia shrugged. “Not really. I just… It’s weird to talk about him. Sherlock’s my dad now, right? My… _other_ dad is… you know. I don’t know.”

“Sherlock wouldn’t mind, you know. I don’t think he would.”

“Oh.”

“You could talk about him if you wanted to,” John continued. “I know you had a life before Moran. We both do.”

“All right.”

“We had a life before you, and you had a life before us.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Considering that,” the doctor said, “is there anything else you want to say? You said you had something to ask me.”

“Oh, um. It wasn’t important. It’s just that- well, I’ve always wanted a pet,” Julia admitted. “My mother didn’t think it was appropriate for me to have one. She said that if I couldn’t even take care of myself, I couldn’t take care of a pet. She wasn’t going to clean after it if I forgot.”

“What do you mean, a pet?”

“Like a dog. I never asked Sherlock because I didn’t think he would take kindly to the idea. I mean, he’s so logical and analyzing, and I don’t know if he’d like a dog anyway. I know we’d have to ask Mrs. Hudson, too. It’s not even worth asking. I shouldn’t’ve said anything.”

“We haven’t got much room in our flat,” John replied, apparently entertaining the idea of a four-legged flatmate. “There are always experiments in the kitchen that, frankly, make me woozy.”

“I know.”

“We’d have to ask Mrs. Hudson, as well. She _is_ our landlady. Having a dog… that’s a lot of responsibility. They’re also quite expensive. We’d have to pay for food and supplies, not to mention all the veterinary bills. The dog itself wouldn’t be cheap, either.”

Julia felt her face grow red. “Yeah. I know. It’s stupid, I just…”

“It’s not stupid,” John protested. “Every kid wants a dog.”

“Yeah… I just… nevermind, okay? Forget about it.”

John looked at her quizzically before apparently deciding to drop the topic. Julia nearly sighed in relief.

However, Sherlock and Lauren emerged from her office only around ten minutes later. The woman was smiling, patting Sherlock’s arm, and he was smirking back at her. Julia’s stomach twisted, and she bit her lip, tearing the skin and tasting blood.

“Hey,” John whispered, “are you all right?”

Julia swallowed. “Yeah,” she replied. “I’m good. Should I… go over there… or?”

“You can, but Sherlock’s on his way over already.”

She looked up to find that John was right. Sherlock was walking towards them purposely, striding confidently through the small room. Julia gazed back down at her fingers, rubbing her forearms restlessly. Dot, dot, line. Dot, line, line.

Sherlock stopped in front of Julia, gazing down at her thoughtfully.

“I know you don’t want to do this,” he said, “but I think it might help you. It’s not my intention to force you into this. This is your last chance. Are you going to cooperate, or should I call a cab?”

Julia half-smiled, taking in Sherlock’s words, remembering John’s. She nodded and stood, staring at her father’s feet.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll do it. You really think it’ll help me?”

“I sincerely hope it does.”

Julia nodded again, more sagely this time. “Okay. I’ll see you in a bit, then.”

Sherlock’s shoulders relaxed, and his mouth quirked upwards.

"I'll see you in a bit," he repeated.

Julia followed Lauren into her office, biting the inside of her cheek the whole way. It was a square room with a desk on one end and a navy blue couch on the other. The walls were cream-colored and the floor was tan hardwood. On the end table next to the couch sat a bunch of red marigolds planted in a white watering can.

Lauren sat in her desk chair and smiled, facing Julia.

“You can sit on the couch, dear.”

“Okay.”

“And you can call me Lauren.”

“You can call me Julia.”

Lauren nodded. “All right. Well, I think this first session is going to be mainly about addressing the issues we’re having, okay? Sorting out what they are, where they come from.”

“Sure.”

“Now, what seems to be the problem?”

Julia paused. Wasn’t it the therapist’s job to figure that out?

“Um, I don’t know.”

Lauren frowned, tapping a pen on the notebook in front of her. “Are you certain? Nothing comes to mind?”

“No. I mean, I get that I’m messed up, but it’s not a big deal.”

“That’s the thing, Julia. You’re not messed up.”

“I am. We all are,” she replied. “Just in different ways.”

Lauren thought about this for a moment, looking past Julia’s shoulder. She wondered how this was supposed to help at all if the woman in front of her couldn’t figure out what was wrong.

“I suppose you’re right,” Lauren finally said. “Although, I think that’s a negative way of putting it. I’d say that everyone is… Well, everyone has different… um.”

“Everyone has something?” Julia tried. “Something that happened to them?”

“Not quite what I was thinking, but close enough. It’s hard sometimes, putting concepts into words.”

“Yeah.”

“How about we work on that statement for the end of this session?”

“Okay.”

“All right. On to the next question I have for you. Do you know why you’re here?”

“Not really. John thought this would help me, and Sherlock thought it was worth a shot. I just came so they would be happy.”

“Speaking of your dad, he’s been telling me all sorts of exciting things about your life.” The woman grinned again, showing off straight white teeth. “He’s a consulting detective, is he?”

“Yeah.”

“That must be interesting.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you go on cases with him?”

“No, I’m too young. I don’t really need to be there,” Julia explained. “I don’t know if I’d want to go, anyway. At least not yet.”

“Why’s that? Do you not like spending a lot of time with your dad, or-”

“No! It’s not that. I just… don’t like blood, and stuff. Dead people… I couldn’t shut it off like Sherlock does. He and John can distance themselves from it. I don’t think I can do that yet.”

“I see.”

“Yeah.”

“Does he ever tell you about his work, or does he keep it to himself?”

“He tells me about it whenever he gets home,” replied Julia. “After he crashes, that is. He’ll sleep for almost a whole day. Sometimes John has to bring me to school. Sometimes I get home and the only one there is Mrs. Hudson. She’s our landlady.”

“Does that bother you?”

“I hate not knowing when they’ll be home. I always worry about them.”

“Do you think that causes stress?”

“Yeah, but not constantly. They’re not out on all-night cases that often. They haven’t even had to leave the country yet. There were a few of those, but they solved those ones before I started living with Sherlock.”

“So, they do tell you about their cases?”

“Yeah. Most of the time, I read the cases from John’s blog . That’s after Sherlock tells me from his point of view. Sherlock will give you the logical portrayal, but John’s blog is like a book. I think he should try to get them published. He’s not so keen on the idea, though.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. He gave me a bunch of his old classics for my birthday, so he’s a reader, too. If his blog entries were longer, they’d be great books. He’s really good at describing things, especially Sherlock.”

“You like to read, then?”

“Yeah.”

“What else do you like to do?”

“I can draw pretty well, I suppose.”

Lauren smiled. “Does your dad encourage you?”

Julia’s lips quirked upwards. “I think he’d encourage anything I decide to do.”

“So he lets you draw whenever you like?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s good of him. Does he encourage you to do anything else? Your schoolwork, for example.”

“Yeah. He had my uncle get me a tutor. She was a brilliant teacher. I’m doing pretty well in school, actually. I’m passing all my courses.”

“That’s good. Did you think you wouldn’t?”

“Well, I just hadn’t been to school in a long while.”

The woman nodded. “You have a good point. Now, does schoolwork stress you out sometimes?”

“Yeah. John usually offers to help me, though.”

“Where do you do your homework?”

“Sometimes at the kitchen table while Sherlock’s doing his experiments, but mostly in the sitting room while John’s writing up cases.”

“You get your work done? You’re not distracted by them?”

“Not really. If Sherlock needs help, it doesn’t take long.”

She nodded again. “Do you do anything around school?”

“I tried out for the football team.”

“And you got on?”

“Oh, yeah. I don’t really play, but Lena’s been drilling me. She’s one of my friends.”

“Does your dad approve of that?”

Julia looked at the ceiling, trying to put her thoughts into words. “Uh, yeah, I guess so. He didn’t tell me I couldn’t. He was worried at first, I remember, but he was fine with it when I said that Lena was already on the team.”

“Does John approve?”

“Yeah, he was talking strategies with me the other day,” Julia replied. “I’ve got a game in a few weeks. They’ve promised to come even though I’ll hardly play.”

“That doesn’t upset you?” the woman asked. “It would irritate me.”

“No, I’m not as good as the rest of the team. I think I only got on because my uncle… well, he’s very powerful.”

“Over the school board?” Lauren laughed.

Julia smiled. “No, in the government.”

“Ah, so he’s climbed ranks since I’ve last talked to him, then.”

“Um, I guess.”

Julia and Lauren spent the next half hour talking through some everyday things. School and homework came up once or twice, and Julia’s friends made a few guest appearances, but their conversation mostly revolved around Sherlock and his work. Lauren didn’t ask too many invasive questions, and she stayed away from topics that Julia asked her to. Eventually they’d have to talk about them, Julia reasoned, but they’d deal with that part later. By the time they were done, Julia thought that maybe seeing her every few weeks wouldn’t be so bad.

Lauren stopped her before she opened the door.

“Julia? Did you come up with something better? For our statement, that is.”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” she replied, swallowing. “Everyone survives something different.”

“I like that,” Lauren said. “I’ll see you in two weeks.”

“Okay,” Julia replied, and she turned from the woman, her eyes finding Sherlock’s in the waiting room immediately. “We’ll be back.”


	11. I Owe You A Love Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is given a gift, and Julia is asked a question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is "I Owe You A Love Song" by Shiny Toy Guns.

“John’s not home yet,” Julia announced from the living room. “Is he working the late shift today?”

“He shouldn’t be.”

“Maybe he’s picking up dinner.”

“Perhaps,” Sherlock replied. He gazed into his microscope thoughtfully, jotting down notes in a composition book, and he only looked up when the front door opened around ten minutes later.

“Sorry I’m late,” John greeted. There was a small thud as he dropped something on the floor. “A few of my patients ran longer than expected, and I had to pick up this little thing.”

“Oh my god!” Julia exclaimed. “Where did you get him?”

Sherlock craned his neck, trying to see what was exciting his daughter so much. His brows knit together, and his mind started racing. _Him?_

“She’s a girl, actually,” John replied. “Picked her up from Mike’s. His sister’s a breeder, if you can believe it.”

The detective stood, walking around a table full of experiments to get to the living room. Julia was sitting cross-legged on the floor, a bundle of red fur in her lap. John was standing by the door, a smug grin on his face. Next to him was a bag full of - Sherlock assumed - supplies for the dog currently licking Julia’s face.

“Hello,” Julia cooed. “Hello! Sorry I misgendered you.”

“John?”

The doctor grinned at Sherlock and shrugged. “Well, I talked to Mrs. Hudson. As long as she doesn’t do any permanent damage, she can stay.”

Sherlock smiled broadly, walking over to John and planting a quick kiss on his lips.

“You got a dog.”

“Yes.”

“Why did you do that?”

“Why not?” asked John, pulling Sherlock closer to him. He wrapped his arm around John’s waist and gazed down at him. “You two wanted one, and Mrs. Hudson didn’t have a problem with it.”

Sherlock thought back to their conversation in the waiting room two weeks ago. John had smiled and confided in Sherlock that ‘ _Your daughter wants a dog_.’ The doctor had gone on to explain how he had tried to let Julia down easily, but it might take a refusal from Sherlock to convince her to let it go.

Refusing to let his disappointment show, Sherlock had nodded silently. However, after months of being together, John could tell when something didn’t sit right with the detective. John had gazed at him thoughtfully, gently taking his hand.

“What is it, love?”

“Nothing, John.”

“You can tell me.”

“I know.” Sherlock had sat in silence for a few moments, his eyes roaming around the room. “When I was young, I had a red Irish setter. His name was Redbeard. He was my first mate.” He’d looked up then, into John’s amused blue eyes. “I wanted to be a pirate,” he’d explained. “He died when I was nine.”

“Mycroft told me that bit about being a pirate.”  
“What? When?”

“He came to tell me about Irene’s reloca-”

“Oh, the Woman. She’s still alive, by the way. Never relocated after all.”

“She’s what?”

“Not important, John.”

Julia’s laugh cut through Sherlock’s reverie. He watched the small animal clamber over her lap, nearly topple over twice, and finally settle between her legs. The grin that spread across Julia’s face made Sherlock’s heart swell.

“What breed is she?” Julia questioned, smiling widely as she stroked the dog’s head. “She’s got such a nice color.”

“Irish setter,” replied John happily. “She’ll need lots of exercise to keep her from tearing up the flat, so you’d better get used to keeping her busy. You’ll have to feed her every morning before school and every evening. Mrs. Hudson has a garden downstairs. It’s fairly small, so she won’t be able to run around as much as she grows, but that’s not the point. It’s _Mrs. Hudson_ ’s garden, and she’s kind enough to let us use it. You have to clean up after her and make sure she doesn’t dig up any of the flowers.”

“You’ve really thought this through,” Julia laughed.

John shrugged. “You two really wanted a dog.”

“Fair enough.”

Sherlock looked at the small dog thoughtfully. “I’ll help you train her,” he said. “Irish setters are fairly intelligent. It shouldn’t be that difficult.”

“Okay,” replied Julia. “Sounds good.”

“There’s one more thing, though,” John said, frowning.

Julia suddenly became nervous. Sherlock wondered why as he spoke up.

“What are we going to name her?”

The girl looked down at the dog and frowned for herself. “Maybe… maybe we could name her after a scientist,” she suggested, looking sheepishly up at Sherlock. “Or maybe a composer.”

Sherlock considered this. It wasn’t a particularly bad idea.

“Something French?” Julia continued.

“No, no, French composers are rubbish. Half of them are ‘Jean’s, and we’ve already got one of those,” he said, smirking at the blond man next to him. “No… think Italian, Austrian, German.”

“We can’t name her Bach,” John replied. “Or Beethoven.”

“No, they’re not very attractive names for dogs, are they?” Sherlock agreed.

“Have you not seen _Beethoven_?”

Sherlock frowned, searching his mind palace for anything relevant. He didn’t think John was talking about the composer.

“ _Beethoven_ \- what’s that?”

“It’s- Nevermind,” John chuckled. “How about Vivaldi? You play that the most.”

“That’s what you two like the most,” Sherlock replied. “I think it's a fine choice. Julia?"

The girl nodded. "Yeah. I like that. Little Vivaldi." She got up, the dog prancing around her feet, and stood before John, wrapping her arms delicately around him.

Sherlock smiled as John hugged her back.

"Oi," the doctor laughed, "you'll be taller than I am, soon."

Julia smiled halfheartedly. "I think we're already there."

John frowned slightly but chuckled anyway. "Just don't hold it over my head."

The girl before them grinned suddenly, laughing.

"What is it?"

"I... I don't want to say," she replied nervously. "It's not very nice."

Sherlock grinned and chuckled himself. "There are quite a few things over your head, John."

John laughed. "I'm not that short! Although, I suppose I did walk right into that."

The dog pawed at Sherlock’s pajama pants, and he smirked down at her.

“There’s a collar in the bag somewhere, if you’d like to get it,” John said to Julia.

Sherlock picked up the small dog, letting her lick his fingers. He scratched behind her ears, cradling her to his chest. As Vivaldi squirmed in his arms, the detective couldn’t help but let memories of his own dog surface. He half-smiled as the dog nipped at his fingertips, eager to play.

Julia clipped a black collar around Vivaldi’s neck. Sherlock handed her the dog and pecked John on the cheek before returning to his experiment, vaguely aware that something was beginning to smell dangerously acidic.

The next week was relatively peaceful. Lestrade had called again with another murder from the serial killer targeting blonds. That marked three in only five weeks. He and John had left Julia with Mrs. Hudson and inspected the crime scene, but even Sherlock could find no new clues. This case was a good one, and he absolutely loved the thrill of it all.

Julia was doing well in school, and she took Vivaldi for a walk around the neighbourhood every day. Today, a few of her friends dropped by, and they all took a walk to Regent’s Park.  It had taken a great deal of convincing to get Sherlock to finally let Julia go, and even then, he didn’t like it. He was worried the whole time she was out; he was so preoccupied with thinking about every crime that had occurred at Regent’s Park in his lifetime alone that he forgot about the case entirely.

“Sherlock, love,” John said, bringing him a cup of tea, “she’s fine. She’s with her friends.”

“Yes, yes. Of course, I know.”

“Why are you so worried, then?”

“I’m not worried, John. Julia can take care of herself.”

John’s eyebrows rose. “You’re not worried?”

“Not at all,” he replied. “You’re right. She’s with her friends. I believe the boys can take care of themselves as well.”

“That’s not worrying you either?”

“As much as I don’t like that the majority of her friends are male, I trust them.”

“All of them like girls, though.”

Sherlock shook his head. “Noah’s asexual. Julia told me.”

“Doesn’t mean he can’t still fall in love with her.”

“Don’t even suggest that to me, John. I will not stand for it!”

John laughed. “Come on, Sherlock. You’ve never fancied yourself in love?”

“I don’t fancy myself anything,” Sherlock replied. “I know I’m in love with you, and I know I love Julia. That’s all I need.”

“That’s… that’s really sweet, Sherlock.”

“Oh, please,” he muttered. “Daniel’s gay, too.”

“All right, you’ve got me there. You win.”

“I always do.”

John laughed. “Any idea when she’ll be home?”

“She’d better be home by six,” Sherlock said. “Half six, at the latest. She’s still got to study for the history test on Monday.”

"She'll do that over the weekend, too."

"She wanted to start today."

“Do you want to text her or shall I?”

“You do it. If I text her, she’ll think I’m being overbearing.”

“You are, a bit, Sherlock.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Sherlock,” John said firmly. “Yes, you are.”

The detective sighed and put his book aside. He hadn’t been paying enough attention to it anyway. Something about the acidity of human blood affecting concrete… maybe.

“What time is it now?” he asked.

“It’s almost six.”

“Good, she should be home soon. Do you want takeaway for dinner?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Indian?” suggested Sherlock.

John hummed to himself, putting his cup of tea on the nearby end table and getting to his feet. He dropped a kiss on Sherlock’s head before moving to the kitchen. “I was thinking Chinese, actually.”

“Julia likes Indian more.”

“That’s why we always have it. Don’t you want lo mein?”

Sherlock considered this. “Yes, you have a point. Chinese it is.”

“I’ll order it now so it’s here when Julia gets back. Do you think her friends want to stay for dinner?”

Sherlock groaned. “They might.”

“I’ll be sure to ask her.” After a few minutes, John called out, “Charlotte and Daniel have to get home, but Will, Grace, and Kieran can stay. Their mums will pick them up later.” The doctor walked back into the sitting room. “That’s three more kids. What should I get them?”

“You’ll have to ask Julia, I suppose.”

John shrugged and texted Julia again. Sherlock peeled himself away from the couch and started tidying up his more valuable books and papers, securing their safety. He heard John call for takeaway and sighed as his own phone buzzed.

_(6:04pm) We’re on our way back._

_(6:04pm) We just ordered takeaway. - SH_

_(6:07pm) Thanks, Dad._

Sherlock smiled to himself and continued cleaning.

~*~

Julia picked up her phone and squinted at it, frowning in the dark. She had just gotten to sleep when Will had decided to text her out of the blue. The girl shook her head, sighing. Kieran, Will, and Grace had all left the flat around three hours ago, and Julia had spent most of the time after studying for her history test with John. Sherlock had commented on how it was probably better that John help her with history, as Sherlock himself couldn’t care less. She’d been exhausted afterwards, craving the comfort of much-needed sleep.

_(10:43pm) Hey Jules_

Julia narrowed her eyes at the message. It wasn’t even important. She put her phone back on her bedside table and pulled the covers around her shoulders. Sleep had just started to tug at her eyelids when her phone buzzed again.

_(10:46pm) I wanted to bring this up earlier but I thought it would be kinda awkward? Especially with ur dads right there_

Julia rolled her eyes and snuggled deeper under the blankets. Again, her phone buzzed.

Should’ve put it on silent, she mused.

_(10:48pm) I know ur reading these messages. Answer me?_

_(10:49pm) Will, I’m tired. Please let me sleep._

_(10:50pm) But Jules_

_(10:51pm) Yeah? Is it important?_

_(10:52pm) Kinda?_

_(10:54pm) … Did you really need the question mark?_

_(10:55pm) Yes_

Julia sighed to herself and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. Maybe Will was going to ask about Kieran - not that Julia would have any information. He’d been acting quiet during dinner and barely talked at all in the park, even when Julia had asked him about the school newspaper - which she’d been surprised to find out he edited.

The normally talkative, laughing Kieran had been oddly subdued, and Julia had to admit that she was worried about her friend.

_(10:57pm) Yeah, okay. What is it?_

_(10:58pm) I was wondering if u wanted to go out sometime??_

Julia’s stomach twisted.

_(11:01pm) We just went out._

_(11:04pm) No, I mean, like on a date_

Julia bit her lip. It would be so easy to say yes, she thought. They could have a lot of fun if they went out. That meant that Will liked Julia the way Julia was starting to like him. John had said after dinner that Will was a good kid; he liked him. Her dad, though, probably wouldn’t like Julia dating anyone, not even Will. Sherlock... He’d deduced that Will would want to ask her on a date when she first met him. Too bad he was around five months late.

When the girl looked back to her messages, there were a slew of them from Will, none of them more than a minute apart.

_(11:07pm) Sorry. I’m sorry. I didnt mean to make this weird_

_(11:08pm) Jules?_

_(11:08pm) I’m sorry._

_(11:09pm) I’ll take that as a no?_

_(11:10pm) Can u answer me??_

_(11:11pm) I’m really sorry._

Julia chewed on her lip, thinking about how she would bring up dating next time she talked to Sherlock.

_(11:12pm) Calm down, Will._

_(11:13pm) I never should’ve asked, I’m sorry_

_(11:14pm) I just have to get my dads to say yes. John will probably be okay with it, but Sherlock might not be so happy._

_(11:16pm) So you WANT to go on a date with me?_

_(11:17pm) Yes. Don’t worry._

_(11:18pm) Ok then. Good_

_(11:19pm) We should go to Angelo’s. He loves my dads._

_(11:21pm) That sounds good actually_

_(11:22pm) Did you doubt me? I’m offended. I really am tired, though. I’ll ask tomorrow._

_(11:23pm) Night Jules_

_(11:24pm) Night, Will._

Julia walked downstairs the next morning with a spring in her step. She made her way to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of orange juice, downing it in three large gulps. Sherlock, his dressing gown hanging off one shoulder, walked out of his bedroom and frowned at her.

“You’re happy today.”

“I am.”

“Why is that?”

“Uh, right. I had to talk to you about that.”

Sherlock  raised an eyebrow. “Did you?”

“Yeah. Um, maybe we should talk with John.”

Julia crossed her fingers as Sherlock nodded sagely and made his way into the sitting room. She followed him in, grabbing the remote and turning on the telly. Flipping through channels, Julia hazarded a glance towards her dad, who was lounging on the couch with his feet crossed on one arm. Sherlock wouldn’t like the idea of her dating anyone, not even Will. The best decision was to go for it, just ask him bluntly. No, Julia wouldn’t even ask her dad for permission. She was going to tell Sherlock that she was going on this date, no matter what.

Julia took one glance at Sherlock and changed her mind. She couldn’t - _wouldn’t_ go against him.

John padded out of the bathroom, his hair sticking up in all directions. He saw Julia and Sherlock sitting in the living room and paused.

“Is something going on?”

“Um, I wanted to talk to y-”

“Julia wants to go on a date with Lestrade’s boy, but she’s too nervous to ask for permission. She doesn’t really _need_ permission, I suppose - oh, no, actually, she does indeed need permission. John, do you have any grievances against Lestrade’s son? I could think of a few - that’s only because I’ve already deduced everything about him - but I’d like your opinion.”

Julia’s face was burning, and she put her head in her hands. Of course Sherlock would figure it out; she had been stupid to think she could hide it from him. Her dad knew everything as soon as it happened.

“Oh. _Oh!_ ” John exclaimed. He sat and stared at the ceiling. “Will Lestrade? He’s a good kid. I trust that Greg’s raised him right. I see no problem with you going out if you want to.”

Julia nodded, her hands still covering her face. “Thank you,” she mumbled.

“Not a problem,” John replied, smiling. “What will you two be doing?”

“I, um, I don’t know. I thought we could go to Angelo’s.”

“Angelo’s?” Sherlock questioned, narrowing his eyes at Julia. “What do you mean, _Angelo’s_? Isn’t that too formal for a first date between teenagers?”

“You wear suits everyday,” John pointed out. “You’re talking to her about formal?”

“It’s _romantic_ , John; that’s why I brought you there on our first case,” Sherlock explained. Julia smiled until he continued, “It’s much too romantic for two sixteen-year-olds on their first date.”

“Sherlock, listen,” John said. “They’ll be fine. They’re good kids.”

Julia bit her lip. “I just thought… you trust Angelo. I thought it would be a good place to meet since I know it well. It’s, um, a familiar environment.”

“You would be more comfortable there than somewhere else,” Sherlock sighed. “I concede. You can go to Angelo’s with Lestrade’s son on the condition you tell me when you’re going.”

“Won’t we be dropping her off, though?” asked John. “I don’t particularly like the thought of her taking a cab by herself.”

“I, er, I can take a cab on my own.”

“No,” Sherlock agreed, “we’ll have to accompany her. That’s the only way she’ll go.”

“I’m still here,” Julia muttered, looking between John and Sherlock. “Is… is that a yes? I can go? Because… I might have told him already that I could.”

“You what?” Sherlock demanded, his head snapping around to stare at her. “What was the purpose of asking me, then?”

“I told him I would ask you!”

Sherlock sighed, rubbing his forehead in exasperation. “Fine. You can go.”

“Really?”

“Yes, yes. Have fun, and all that.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

With that, Julia got up to make breakfast, noting the pleased smile on John’s face and grinning herself.

 


	12. 'Til Kingdom Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has a date of his own, and Julia helps him pop a question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is "'Til Kingdom Come" by Coldplay.

"Sherlock, I don't think we should do this."

"Then why are you coming with me?" the detective asked, raising an eyebrow.

John sighed, looking at the ceiling. "Because I want to look out for her too, and right now, that means tagging along with you to make sure you don't embarrass her or yourself."

Sherlock grinned. "What could I possibly do that would embarrass her?"

"I don't know, Sherlock. You could sit at the table next to them; you could ask Angelo to spy on them; you could threaten Will."

"Why would I threaten the son of a detective inspector? One who provides me with cases, no less?"

Sherlock grabbed his coat, draped it around his shoulders, and opened the door to their flat.

"Julia!" he called. "What time do you have to be at Angelo’s?"

"Twenty minutes."

"It's a ten minute cab ride. Make sure you're ready soon!"

"Yeah, I'll be down in a minute!"

Sherlock turned to John, who was frowning at his shoes.

"You're still uncomfortable."

"It's an invasion of privacy, Sherlock. She's supposed to be able to trust us."

"She _can_ trust us. That's why we'll be there if she needs anything."

"She doesn't need our supervision."

"Think of it this way, John: you're not supervising her; you're supervising me!"

"That's almost worse" John mumbled.

"You're overreacting, John. Don't worry so much."

"You're the one who's following her on her first date."

Sherlock's face immediately darkened. He bounded down the stairs, leaving John to wait for their daughter at the top.

Yes, Sherlock was a bit put off that Julia was... _dating_... now. It made sense, really. He'd only been caring for Julia for around eleven months. Sherlock froze on the curb. Julia hadn’t even been living with him for a year, even though it was quite close, and she was already getting ready to leave. Tonight, it was a date; tomorrow, it was university. She’d be gone before Sherlock knew it.

Children grew up, and teenagers left the house; that was the way the world worked, and Sherlock would have to deal with it.

The ride to Angelo’s was a short one, as always, but it seemed like an eternity had gone by before they got to the restaurant. Julia had barely said two words, definitely suspicious of both John and Sherlock dropping her off, and John had spent most of the time staring out the window. Sherlock had found it hard not to admire the way the streetlights cast their yellow glow on his partner, illuminating his sandy grey hair, reflecting in his dark blue eyes. Sherlock had only smirked when John caught his gaze in the reflection.

Sherlock and John followed Julia out of the cab, and Sherlock could tell she was starting to piece his plan together.

“You don’t have to come in,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “I know Angelo. I’ll be fine.”

“I know you’ll be fine,” Sherlock replied. “Doesn’t stop me from wanting to accompany you inside.” He knew John was behind him, and he could imagine what his face looked like. His lips pursed, eyes rolling, arms crossed. It made Sherlock want to smile and kiss that look away. “We have our own plans.”

“I’m an unwilling accomplice,” John mumbled.

“Don’t exaggerate, John. It’s unbecoming.” Sherlock caught John’s eye roll the second time. “I decided to treat John to dinner,” he continued. “After all, it is our anniversary.”

“It is not, you tosser,” John laughed. “We got together in April, and we first met in January. It’s only August.”

“Ah, yes. Well, it’s close enough to an anniversary to mean something.”

John frowned. “What anniversary?”

“He found me in September,” Julia answered, looking at her hands. “Nearly a year now.”

“Yes, nearly. So, your date starts in-” Sherlock checked his watch. “-five minutes. Are we going in?”

Julia sighed, and Sherlock thought, for just a second, that maybe he was overstepping his boundaries as a father. He decided then that he wouldn’t make a fool of his daughter on her first date, no matter how much he didn’t like it. It was important to her, so it was important for him not to mess it up.

“I suppose I’ll pay the cab, then,” John chuckled. “Get inside.”

Sherlock followed Julia inside the restaurant, and a grinning Angelo came up to them. He clapped Sherlock on the shoulder and crushed Julia to his chest in a hug.

“Sherlock! Julia!” he bellowed. “So good to see you! Where is your partner?”

“He’s paying the cab,” Sherlock replied. “We’re here for two tables, today, Angelo. I’d like the one by the window, if you don’t mind.”

“Not too close together,” Julia said, glancing at Sherlock. “If that’s possible.”

“Of course, any tables you like! You won’t be eating alone, will you, Miss Holmes?”

Julia’s face turned pink, and Sherlock smirked. “No, Angelo. Julia’s on a date.”

“Is she?” Angelo exclaimed. “Brilliant! Who’s the lucky boy?”

“Detective Inspector Lestrade’s son,” Sherlock replied. “He’ll be here soon enough, I believe.”

Angelo grinned. “Well, please, sit! I’ll get your menus right away. And you, Miss Holmes: your meal will be on the house!”

“That’s okay,” Julia said quietly. “I have enough money to take ca-”

“She means _I_ have enough to take care of it,” Sherlock said. “Thank you, Angelo. We wouldn’t want to put you out of business.”

John walked in then, earning a hug from Angelo for himself. He smiled and greeted the owner warmly.

“Good evening, Dr. Watson!”

“Hello, Angelo. How are you?”

“Perfect, perfect, and I hope the same for you!” Angelo beamed and turned to Julia. “Follow me, Miss Holmes; I’ll take you to your table.”

Sherlock turned his gaze to John, feeling it soften as his eyes roamed over the doctor’s features. He was indeed in love with John Watson, and for some incredible reason, the doctor was in love with him. Perhaps he wouldn’t pay as much attention to Julia and Will as he thought he would. The detective now thought that he might be utterly engrossed in a date of his own.

John smirked at him, undoubtedly knowing what was running through Sherlock’s mind. The taller man almost laughed at the fact, were it not that John had always been more in-tune to the human body than Sherlock had. Such blatant physical desires would be nearly impossible to hide from John now, who was an observant man, even if he was a bit slower than Sherlock.

“You know,” the doctor said, his voice thick and slow like molasses, “if we finish dinner before Julia does, we might want to take a walk.”

“Yes, I’m sure she’ll be fine here,” Sherlock replied.

John’s lips quirked in a half-smile.

“What happened to keeping an eye on her?”

Sherlock shrugged. “I have Angelo’s number if I need it, not to mention hers.”

John shook his head fondly before heading to the table by the window, the one from their first case. Sherlock had filed every moment of that night away in his mind palace. It was as much a part of him as the Work.

“Do you remember what you said to be at this table?” John asked, his eyes filled with mirth.

“I remember everything concerning you, John.”

The doctor licked his lips. “Yes, I know your memory’s impeccable, but humor me.”

“What did I say to you at this table, John?”

“All right, you git, not that much.” John shook his head again.”You said you considered yourself married-”

“Married to my work. I still am, in fact. You’re just a part of it now. You have been for a long while, John. I did it perfectly well without you, you know. However, people are more inclined to trust a man like you. You have been quite helpful.”

And John had been helpful in so many ways. He'd saved Sherlock that day they met at Bart’s, the night John killed a man to save him, literally - but he’d also hurt Sherlock in so many ways that the detective couldn't count them all. Most of them, obviously, weren't of the doctor's own volition. John would never mean to hurt him as badly as he did. Acting so disgusted to be mistaken as Sherlock’s partner, bringing countless women to the flat just to get off with them, dismissing each and every time Sherlock was too weak to keep his emotions in check - it had all hurt Sherlock, cut deep into what heart he had, left him wounded.

“I love you.”

“And I you, John.”

Sherlock spun around in his chair when Angelo greeted the next customer. Sure enough, it was Lestrade’s son. He walked in timidly, obviously unsure of where to go.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, and John nudged him under the table.

“Don’t, he warned softly. “I thought this was supposed to be our date, too. Don’t focus on them.”

Sherlock turned back to John reluctantly, although he found that, if he tilted his head just so, he could perfectly see Julia and her date.

“Are you going to order something?” John asked. Sherlock had just opened his mouth to speak when John continued, “Because you always say ‘no’ and end up eating half of my plate, even though ‘it’s just transport’ and you’re ‘not hungry.’”

Sherlock’s mouth closed with a click of his teeth.

“Yes, John. I’ll order something.”

“Will you eat it?”

“To appease you, yes. If I must.”

John rolled his eyes. “Shut up. I know Angelo’s ravioli is your favorite. Why don’t you just get that? When you don’t finish it, we’ll take it home, and you or Julia can have it for lunch tomorrow.”

Sherlock smirked. God, did he love John Watson.

~*~

It was only four days later when Julia was roused from her sleep by vicious pounding on the door. She jolted upright, looking around wildly.  It only took her a moment to run downstairs and into Sherlock's arms. He'd been awake still, obviously, but John was still rubbing sleep out of his eyes as he crept down the stairs, gun in hand.

Julia wrapped her arms around Sherlock's middle and buried her face in his chest. Anyone knocking that loudly couldn't mean well.

"Johnny!" the voice called. "John!"

The door downstairs opened, and Julia clutched Sherlock closer.

"It's all right. It's John's sister."

"Harry?"

"Yes. Looks like you'll be meeting her today."

Reluctantly, Julia let go of Sherlock. She sat in John’s chair and tucked her legs under herself. Sherlock went into the kitchen, and Julia asked for a cup of tea. She could hear John talking downstairs. He wasn’t happy.

“Harry, it’s three in the morning. And on a Tuesday! This isn’t all right.”

“Johnny, I wanna stop,” came a slurred reply. “I wanna stop but I can’t, I just can’t.”

“Come upstairs, okay? You can kip on the sofa tonight. We have to talk about this in the morning. I’m too tired for much of anything right now.”

The door to the flat opened, and John walked in with a woman on his arm. Her blue eyes matched John’s, save for being glassy and unfocused. Mascara and eyeliner ran down her cheeks, and her bright red lipstick was smeared around the edges. She pushed dark blonde hair out of her eyes and sat heavily on the sofa.

Julia watched in silence as John sighed and sat next to the woman, his sister.

“Who’s this?” she asked, pointing an accusatory finger at Julia. “You got cli-clients… this young?”

“No, Harry, that’s… She’s Sherlock’s daughter.”

“No, don’ lie to me, Johnny. She don’ even look like him!”

“He adopted me this past January,” Julia interjected. “He’s my dad, legally.”

“Why?”

“Harry-”

“He liked me.”

“Why you?”

“I’m clever.”

John chuckled, and Sherlock walked out of the kitchen with a tray. He set it on the coffee table and poured a cup for everyone, measuring out John’s and Julia’s sugar just the way they liked it, all the while ignoring Harry’s questions.

“Why’d you adopt a kid, much less a daugh’er?” she demanded. “You can’ take care uva girl.”

Sherlock’s head snapped up at that.

“I’m aware you’re severely inebriated and won’t have any idea what you’re saying now tomorrow morning, but I suggest you _try_ to think with your alcohol-flooded mind before criticizing my ability to care for my daughter,” he replied, his voice and expression as cold as ice.

“I can’ believe you’re livin’ with ‘im, Johnny.”

“Harry, don’t,” the doctor warned. “You like Sherlock, remember?”

“Yeah… Sherlock… he’s still a giant… _tosser_.”

John took the pot of tea from Sherlock and poured a cup for Harry. He didn’t put more than a pinch of sugar in it, but he filled almost a quarter of the cup with milk.

“C’mon, Harry, it’ll sober you up a bit. Don’t want you vomiting on the sofa.”

The woman nodded and took the cup gingerly, sipping it slowly.

“Thanks, Johnny.”

Julia started as Sherlock stepped in front of her, handing her a cup full of tea.

“Thanks, Dad.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Is Aunt Harry gonna be all right?”

“I sincerely hope so, though I doubt it will be anytime soon. Perhaps after another round of rehab.”

Julia nodded.

“After your tea, you should get back to bed. You have school tomorrow.”

“Football practice, too.”

“Yes, I haven’t forgotten.”

“Will you come to the game next weekend? I probably won’t play that much, but…”

“Of course I will. John’s coming too. We’ve no plans as of yet.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Julia smiled and sipped her tea until her cup was empty. By that time, Harry was already passed out. The girl put her cup in the sink and walked to the stairs. Sherlock was there, waiting to follow her upstairs.

As soon as they were in Julia’s room, Sherlock said, “This is a touchy topic with John. If you have any questions, you should ask me before you think about asking him. Don’t ask Harry directly, either, all right?”

“Why not?”

“We’re just looking out for you. Harry can be insensitive when she’s drunk. Sober’s a different story. Just not many pages.”

Julia nodded. As Sherlock turned to leave, she called out, “Do you think she’ll like me? When- When she’s sober.”

There had never been a very motherly figure in Julia’s life. Molly was more like an older sister - and the way they gossiped over text message really was awful - and Mrs. Hudson was an aunt or grandmother. She referred to Sherlock as her son often enough. Nana didn’t visit often, although she called every once and a while to check in. She’d figured out that she wouldn’t get much from Sherlock, so she spent hours asking about his health and how Julia’s football season was going.

 _Having Harry around would be good thing_ , Julia thought.

Sherlock’s mouth quirked up in a half-smile, as if he knew what she was thinking. “She’ll love you.”

“You think so?” Julia asked hopefully.

“I’m sure of it.”

When Julia got home from football practice the next day, Harry was gone, and John held his head in his hands.

“Okay,” Julia said, sitting comfortably on Sherlock’s bed. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Sherlock nodded and knelt on one knee. “John,” he said solemnly, “you are the most important person in my life besides Julia. I’ve already adopted her; she’s not going anywhere. I wish to do the same with you. Well, no, I don’t wish to adopt you… although I suppose, in a way, I do. As my husband, that is. I wish to adopt you as my husband. So, John, if you’ll accept this proposal, I’d be honored to marry you.”

“No.”

“That was horrible, wasn’t it?” Sherlock sighed.

“Yes. That was horrible. Try again?”

Sherlock nodded and shifted on the floor. “All right. John, you are the most important person in my life besides-”

“Maybe don’t mention me,” Julia cut in. “I think that would be best.”

“You are an essential part in both John’s life and mine. I think it would be best to mention you.”

“Okay, okay. Go ahead.”

“John, you and Julia are the most important people in my life. Now that I’ve adopted Julia and you’ve moved in, I know she thinks of you as a father, as I do a husband. If you-”

“Wait, what?”

“What?”

“That sentence was too much.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I don’t know why I asked you for help.”

“You need it,” Julia muttered. “Okay, one more time, and this’ll be it. You’ve got this.”

“John, you and Julia are the most important people in my life,” started Sherlock. “I love you, and I want to be with you forever. I know that since you’ve moved in, Julia has come to think of you as a father to her. And I know that I definitely want to keep it that way. You are one of the best things to ever happen to me. I was a cold, lonely man, and you turned me warm. Well, warmer than I thought possible. You gave me everything I’d never had: a friend, a companion, someone I could trust and rely on, someone to laugh with…” Sherlock paused, swallowing hard. “I want to be with you forever, John, and I’ll do whatever it takes. That being said, if marriage brings us closer together, then so be it.”

A creak came from the other side of Sherlock’s door. Julia froze, staring at the feet under the door.

Sherlock knit his eyebrows together and stood. “John?” he called. “Are you out there?”

There was a sigh before the door opened, and John came into the room.

“I thought you were at work,” Julia said lamely.

“Got off early; didn’t know where you two were when I got home,” the doctor replied. “Are you two… um…?”

“I was just helping…” Julia tried.

“How much of that did you hear?” Sherlock asked. He took one look at John’s face and frowned. “All of it.”

“Yeah.”

“Well…”

“Um, yes.”

“What?”

“Yes, I”ll marry you.”

Julia covered her grin with both hands.

Sherlock shook his head slightly. “I didn’t propose; I just practiced proposing.”

“Yes, I know,” John replied, stepping closer to Sherlock, “but I heard all of it, and you can repeat it for me whenever I like, yeah?”

“I suppose,” the detective answered.

“So, yes. I will marry you, Sherlock Holmes.”

John rose on his tiptoes to give Sherlock a soft peck on the lips, and Julia blushed. The men smiled at each other, nose to nose, and finally settled on wrapping their arms around each other in a cute but awkward hug.

As Sherlock opened his arm to her, Julia joined the two in their embrace, burrowing into the warmth of her small family. She sniffed as tears pricked her eyelids.

Sherlock had taken Julia from Moran, yes. That was all she ever desired, not daring to hope for anything more. If she was lucky, she had reasoned, Sherlock Holmes would find her and take her to the police. She would hop from house to house in the foster system until she turned of age, and she would get a job and attempt to go to college, and have nightmares every night and even more scars on her arms.

Julia would still have the battle scars of living on the run with Sebastian Moran; she would always have them. Life on the run was as much a part of Julia as life in 221B. Now, living with Sherlock and John, Julia had a home. She had parents who cared for her. She had friends and a phone, school and homework, sports and art. Julia had everything she never thought she would,  and she had one person to thank.

Instead of just finding Julia, Sherlock Holmes, the famous consulting detective, had saved her.

She sighed into the hug, willing tears not to flow.

“I love you.”

Those three words made everything worth it.


	13. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens after.

Sherlock and John were married the spring after Sherlock proposed. It was a small ceremony, with just their closest friends and family. Julia was their flower girl and ring bearer, and she cried even more than Mrs. Hudson and Nana did. She danced with both John and Sherlock at least three times, and was surprised to find that her grandfather was the one who taught Sherlock to dance in the first place.

Harry was at the wedding, too. Julia hadn’t wanted to ask about her that day she came home to find her missing. If she had, she would’ve known that Harry was so ashamed to have met her for the first time while drunk that she didn’t put up much of a fight when John checked her into one of the best rehabilitation facilities in England. Of course, Mycroft was so kind as to waive most of the fee.

Molly was soon engaged to a man she met at the wedding. He was one of John’s old army friends, and he thought Molly was absolutely precious. When they had their first child four years later, Julia was named his godmother. She and Jonathan get along famously.

Kieran had been acting a bit off because his boyfriend Jake had broken up with him after five months. This was in order to be with the boy with whom he’d been cheating on Kieran for most of their relationship. After an appropriate amount of time had passed, Kieran realized Grace’s intense crush on him and asked her for a date, but only after getting Will’s blessing.

Julia and Will stayed together until they went to university and decided that a long-distance relationship would be difficult to maintain. They both agreed it would be best to end their relationship on a good note instead of turning it into an ugly thing between the two of them. However, this only lasted around three months before Will called to admit that breaking up with Julia was easily the stupidest thing he’d ever done.

Julia graduated with a degree in digital art, and Kieran with one in screenwriting. Will had gone to a different university and graduated with a degree in law. Will and Julia got married a few years after they graduated, as did Lena and Ruby. Grace and Kieran finally got married three years after everyone else.

Grace and Kieran had their four-year-old daughter Eden shortly after they were married, and Grace just recently gave birth to their newest additions: twins Peter and Sawyer.

Lena and Ruby never adopted children, but chose to focus on their careers. Ruby works as a chef in one of London’s top restaurants and plays guitar on weekends. Lena got a scholarship to university on her football skills, but eventually gave it up to become an A&E nurse.

Daniel Goode married a boy named Sam Merritt, whom he met at one of his sister’s football games. They adopted a little boy named Christopher, and he is now three years old.

Oliver is now a surgeon at Bart’s hospital. He married a woman named Susie, and they have one seven-year-old daughter named Lauren. Amelia married Derek Brown, with whom she had a son: Jeremy, eight.

Will is now a successful lawyer, and Julia works for an animation company. They have four children - Victoria, eight; Gregory, six; Rosalynn, five; and Harley, three - who visit their grandpas in 221B on a weekly basis. They’re all quite happy the way they are.


	14. Bonus Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay... You guys remember Daniel?  
> Well, I love him a lot more than he was in the fic, and I kinda wanted to give him something to make him happy. Therefore, this was born!

Daniel sighed, stretching his legs as best he could on the crowded bleachers. He turned to Julia, but she was occupied with yelling for her boyfriend's team.

"Go! Yes! Go go go go! Run!" she chanted, her hands cupped around her mouth. "Go! _Go_! Yes!" She turned to Daniel frantically. "Did you see that?! Will made the goal! He did it!"

Daniel pasted a smile on his face. It wasn't entirely fake, though, when he realized it meant that his own school lost.

"Hell yes!" he cried. "Edgewood Silver fucking Devils!"

Julia laughed and turned to the boy next to her, beaming with pride. Daniel knew his name... It was something Irish, he thought.

He looked to his right to find his sister in a similar state of excitement. After rolling his eyes, he let them roam around the cheering crowd. He froze when he saw the blond boy that had been leering at his sister before the game had started. He was standing but not cheering, and he was moving through the crowd with purpose. Daniel let his gaze dip over the blond boy, who was making his way to the bottom of the stands.

Daniel nudged his sister. "Who's that kid?"

Charlotte followed his gaze. "Oh, you mean Sam Merritt? He's on the newspaper. He's the best writer they've got. He's not really into sports and stuff but he's gotta come so they have good articles."

"Oh."

"That's why he was talking to Julia before the game started. She's the star player's girlfriend."

"Oh."

"You okay?"

"Yeah."

Charlotte narrowed her eyes at him. Ever since Isaac had moved out, Charlotte had been keeping a closer eye on him. She'd helped him move all of his things back home and into their old room. The bed had already been made with his favorite bedsheets, or the ones that were his favorites before he left. It was still awkward around the house, and the two girls kept dancing around him. His mother wouldn't mention Isaac by name, and whenever she mentioned something that happened while they were together, she got a faraway look in her eyes. Every now and then Charlotte would tease him like usual, but mostly it was just awkward small talk.

"Where's he going, then?"

"I don't know. I think the boys' locker room," Charlotte replied. "He's gotta interview the star."

"Oh."

Julia reached over Daniel to tap on Charlotte's shoulder. "We have to get to warm-ups," she said.

"Warm-ups?" Charlotte cried. "Go kiss your boyfriend!"

"Quit it," Julia replied, blushing. "Come on. Bye, Daniel!"

"Julia's friends should be up here soon," Charlotte said. "You'll be okay?"

"Oh, they're not your friends?" Daniel teased, smiling.

"Maybe someday. I didn't make a sparkling impression on them. I still think half of them hate me. Especially Kieran."

"Maybe someday," Daniel repeated. "That's a good maybe. Knock 'em dead, Charlie."

"Bye, Dan."

Daniel crossed his arms, ignoring the aching in his long legs.

"Hey," the Irish boy said, "how're you doing?"

"Fine? Thanks."

"All right. You want something to drink? I'm gonna go to the vending machines."

"Maybe a coke would be good." Daniel dug through his pockets, looking for change.

"No, I'll get it. I offered."

Daniel considered the boy for a moment, but ultimately shook his head. "Here's a few pounds. Get me a chocolate bar?"

"Sure."

"Oh, and, um, what's your name again? It's something with... maybe a K?"

"Yeah, it's Kieran."

"Sorry. Thanks."

"No problem, Daniel."

Daniel nodded and went back to looking over the crowd. He heard Kieran talking to the men behind him, and he couldn't help but overhear.

"Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, do you want anything from the vending machine?"

"No thank you, Kieran," came a deep voice.

"Mr. Holmes," another voice chuckled. "How fatherly of you."

Daniel smiled. He'd liked Julia's dads when his family had met them for dinner. They seemed genuinely happy together. Daniel had wondered at the time if he would ever be allowed to be that happy with his own boyfriend, or even husband.

"What about you, Mr. Lestrade?"

So that's who had been yelling encouragement from behind him.

"I'm all right. Thanks, Kieran."

"I imagine Will will be up in a minute. He and Julia-"

Kieran laughed and scampered down the pew. Daniel glanced behind him to see Mr. Holmes grimacing. Dr. Watson was laughing, his eyes clenched shut, and Mr. Lestrade looked close to tears.

"I knew it was going to happen eventually," Mr. Holmes complained. "At least she likes your son over the morons they're surrounded with."

"Thanks, Sherlock," Mr. Lestrade laughed. "Julia's way out of his league, if you will. His words."

"I agree."

"Sherlock."

"No offense, of course."

"No, I agree with you."

"See, John?"

Daniel grinned, trying to keep his laughter to himself.

"I can see you laughing down there, Mr. Goode," Mr. Holmes said loudly.

Daniel turned, smiling sheepishly. "Sorry. You're funny."

Dr. Watson grinned. "Daniel! How are you?"

"I'm pretty good," he replied. "I transfer  to Edgewood next month."

"That's great! Do you know what classes you'll be in?"

"Probably honors," Daniel said. "I've always been the smart one."

The crowd cheered as the girls' team ran onto the field. Daniel could spot Julia, Charlotte, and the loud redhead that had been sitting with them. He watched, interested, as the redhead saw someone and bounded over to the edge of the field. She quickly hugged a dark-skinned girl, giving her a kiss before she ran up the bleachers. The girl stopped in front of him and cocked her head.

"Hi. I'm Ruby White. Sorry, but who're you? See, this is usually our spot, and..."

"I'm Daniel Goode." He held out his hand. "I'm sort of sitting in."

"Goode?"

"Yeah."

"As in Charlotte Goode?"

"That's my sister, yeah."

The girl became immediately uncomfortable. She tugged at her dress and started to turn away.

"Uh, I think I have to go..."

Daniel nodded, confused. "All right? I'll tell Kieran you were here, I guess."

Ruby paused. "You know Kieran?"

"Uh... yeah. Kind of. I'm more Julia's friend than anyone else's at the moment."

"You're Charlotte Goode's brother?"

"Twins."

"O-kay."

The two of them sat in awkward silence, watching the girls on the team jog back and forth across the field.

"Are you a homophobe?"

Daniel chuckled. "Do you normally start conversations that way?"

"No. Are you, though?"

"I'm the farthest thing from it," he replied.

"Are you sure? You can think you're not but still be one."

"I'm sure."

"Because I'm a lesbian, and I don't-"

"Woah, woah! Calm down," Daniel said, holding his hands up. "Yeah, I kind of gathered that by seeing you snog your girlfriend out on the field. The redhead? Kieran said her name was Eleanor."

"Lena."

"Yeah, Lena. Anyway, seriously. I'm not a homophobe. Farthest thing from it, okay?"

"Honest?"

"Yeah, honest."

"You're Charlotte Goode's brother, though. Twin brother."

"Yes. I am Charlotte Goode's gay twin brother."

"Oh. _Oh_. I... sorry?"

"Yeah, it's fine."

"Normally I'm better at that."

"What?"

"Figuring out if someone's gay."

"Ah."

"Yeah."

Will, Kieran, and a blond boy - Noah, Daniel thought his name was - ran up to them, grinning. The blond boy from before was trailing behind them. Will was talking with him animatedly, moving his arms around, using his fingers as models.

Daniel eyed him warily, watching him scribble in a palm-sized notebook. His hair was dirty blond, cut short in the back and slightly shaggy by his forhead. His bright blue eyes were partially hidden by square-framed glasses, and he was wearing, of all things, a blue sweater vest. At least he was wearing jeans, Daniel thought, amused.

Black skinny jeans.

Damn.

After all the boys had crammed themselves into the stands, Daniel was... pleased, really, in a weird sort of way, to see the blond seated next to him. He glanced at him, at his sweater vest and dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and fought to keep a grin off his face.

The stands went quiet - as quiet as a football field could be, at least - and Daniel trained his eye on his sister. She really was a beast on the field, going after the ball like her life depended on it. Even watching Charlotte on the field, Daniel was keenly aware of the boy next to him.

His cheeks were round and tinged light pink, and his eyes roamed around the field, disinterested. He wrote a few words in his notebook every now and then, but seemed generally unenthusiastic about the whole thing. Daniel knew how to tell because he felt that way too, at least about sports.

Of course, he'd come to all his sister's games, but other than that, Daniel preferred staying away from most sports teams.

"Uh, hello. My eyes are up here," said the boy. Daniel's eyes snapped to his, and he realized he'd been staring at the boy's shoulders.

"What?"

"You're staring at me."

Daniel frowned, angry. "Oh, but it's okay for you to stare at my sister?"

The blond boy frowned. “Charlotte Goode is your sister? I thought she was your girlfriend.”

“Please,” Daniel laughed. “That’s wrong for so many reasons.”

“Well, okay, then. I wasn’t staring at your sister,” the boy replied. Daniel raised an eyebrow. “Well, I was, okay, _kind of_ , but not for the reason you’re thinking.”

“What kind of answer is that?” Daniel demanded.

“I-”

“It’s a dumb arse answer.”

“Would you just- Just let me explain, okay?”

Daniel smirked as the boy’s face turned pinker than it already was. “I’m listening.”

“Well, okay. I, uh, thought your sister was your girlfriend.”

“Yeah, we’ve covered that,” Daniel said, smiling faintly.

The boy went back to watching the field, but he replied anyway. “If you quit being such an overprotective arse for even a minute, you’d realize I was mostly staring at you. And if I was staring at your sister, it wasn’t to, uh, admire her.”

_He- Oh._

“Oh.”

“No need to worry; the attraction is quickly fading.”

“Now- now hang on!” Daniel protested, starting to panic. “What do you mean it’s _fading_?”

“Don’t be an arse about it, all right?”

“What- I’m not-”

“You’re sort of being an arse about it,” replied the blond boy. He muttered the next part under his breath. “Why is it that straight guys are always offended when gay guys don’t want to get into their pants? I’ll never understand that.”

Daniel sat dumbfounded, staring out into the field, his eyebrows knit together.

“I’m-”

“Dude. Let it go.”

“I’m not straight,” Daniel said, although he thought it sounded more like a question. “People keep assuming that.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Do I look straight? Do I not come off as gay?”

“Obviously not.”

Daniel frowned.

The blond boy laughed. “You seem really worked up about this.”

“This is the second time it’s happened in an hour!” Daniel exclaimed. “How am I supposed to feel about that?”

“The second time?” he repeated. “Wow.”

“Damn.”

The boy laughed again, holding out his hand. “I’m Samuel Merritt. Call me Sam.”

“Daniel Goode,” he said, shaking Sam’s hand and smiling. “I think my sister mentioned you.”

“All good things, I hope,” Sam laughed. “Although I can’t imagine she likes me very much.”

“Why’s that?”

“Don’t you know what she did to Lena Bartlett?”

Daniel’s stomach dropped. “No. She wouldn’t tell me.”

“She and a few other girls… they, uh. They kind of attacked her last month. Julia Holmes broke it up. She sprained her wrist and split her lip. I heard even her ribs were bruised.”

“Holy shit. Because Lena’s… Damn.”

“Yeah. Uh, does she know about you?”

“She does. I mean, I knew she was… but I didn’t think…” Daniel swallowed. “I never thought she’d hurt anybody.”

“Oh.”

“That’s why she doesn’t like you? Because you’re gay?”

Sam nodded. “She hasn’t come out and said it, but yeah.”

“She’s not… Charlie hasn’t hurt you in any way, has she?”

“No.”

“I don’t mean just physically.”

“No,” Sam repeated, looking away from him. “I’m the best writer the newspaper’s got. She has to be civil with me.”

Daniel eyed the boy warily. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize for your sister.”

“She’ll be better.”

Sam turned to him, his bright blue eyes locking onto Daniel’s. “And how do you know that?”

“She will.” Daniel looked to the field again, desperate to be free of the boy’s inquiring gaze. “She’s trying.”

“Trying,” Sam scoffed.

“It’s better than what most people would do,” Daniel spat. “You don’t know why we’re like this, yeah? You don’t know anything about us. Stop acting like you do.”

The blond was silent, staring out at the football field. “I suppose you’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

Daniel nodded, silent.

The game turned out to be quite eventful, with the Silver Devils and the Vipers tied for most of the match. It was Lena who scored the winning goal with three seconds to spare, and the entire team - even Charlotte - lifted her up on their shoulders.

Daniel laughed and grinned as Ruby grabbed his arm.

“That’s my girlfriend!” she shouted. “That’s my girlfriend!”

Ruby and the boys on the bleachers clambered around Daniel to get to the field to celebrate. He looked to his right to see Sam still sitting there.

“Listen, I, uh… We kind of got off on the wrong foot,” he said, his hand raking through blond hair. “I was wondering if you’d like to go out sometime? Er, with me?”

Daniel paused, his heart stuttering. “Really?”

“Yeah, well, I was going to settle for pining from afar, but I figured I’d give it a shot and see what happens.”

Daniel smiled and pointed to Sam’s notebook. “Can I see that?”

Sam handed it over wordlessly, an eyebrow raised. Daniel flipped to the last page - he didn’t want to interfere with the other boy’s notes - and scribbled down his phone number. He handed it back with a smile on his face and a queasy feeling in his stomach.

“I guess that’s an invitation to call you, then?” Sam asked, the tips of his ears turning pink.

“Definitely.”

Daniel decided that he could get used to the smile that spread across Sam’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #danuel


End file.
